ONIVCRSITY  OP 
CALIFORNIA 
SAN 


r 


Dorothy  Vernon    of 
Haddon    Hall 


DOROTHY  VERNON. 


Dorothy  Vernon  of 
Haddon  Hall 


BY 
CHARLES 

AUTHOR  OF   "WHEN    KNIGHTHOOD  WAS  IN   FLOWER,"    "THE  BEARS 
OF  BLUE   RIVER,"    ETC. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS   BY 

HOWARD    CHANDLER    CHRISTY 


f|0tfe 
THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

LONDON:    MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 
I9O2 

Ail  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1902, 
BY  THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped  April,  1902. 


Norwood  Press 

J.  S.   Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood,  Man.,   U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  TOUCH  OF  BLACK  MAGIC i 

CHAPTER 

I.      I    RIDE   DOWN   TO    H ADDON 3 

II.    THE  IRON,  THE  SEED,  THE  CLOUD,  AND  THE  RAIN      .  19 

III.  THE  PITCHER  GOES  TO  THE  WELL  35 

IV.  THE  GOLDEN  HEART 62 

V.     MINE  ENEMY'S  ROOF-TREE 91 

VI.     A  DANGEROUS  TRIP  TO  DERBY-TOWN    ....  108 

VII.     TRIBULATION  IN  H  ADDON 130 

VIII.     MALCOLM  No.  2 163 

IX.     A  TRYST  AT  BOWLING  GREEN  GATE     .        .        .        .181 

X.     THOMAS  THE  MAN-SERVANT 211 

XI.    THE  COST  MARK  OF  JOY 239 

XII.     THE  LEICESTER  POSSIBILITY 260 

XIII.  PROUD  DAYS  FOR  THE  OLD  HALL         .        .        .        .281 

XIV.  MARY  STUART 302 

XV.     LIGHT 333 

XVI.     LEICESTER  WAITS  AT  THE  STILE 360 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Dorothy  Vernon  ........        Frontispiece 

FACING    PAGE 

" '  He  must  be  some  famous,  dashing  highwayman  '  "    .         .         .       28 
"  '  I  will  open  the  veins  in  this  arm  '  "  .         .         .         .         .         .136 

"  Her  father's  oath  had  hardly  been  spoken  till  the  girl  tore  her 

bodice  from  her  shoulders "  .         .         .         .         .         .         .156 

"  She  stood  in  passive  silence"    .         .         .         .         .  .  .172 

"  '  If  you  kill  him,  John,  it  will  break  my  heart ' r           .  .  .     200 

" '  Ah,'  thought  I,  .  .  .  '  Doll  is  a  miserable  coquette  "'  .  .     296 

"  She  sank  to  her  knees  on  the  dungeon  floor  "    .         .  .  -352 


A   TOUCH    OF   BLACK   MAGIC 

1DRAW  the  wizard's  circle  upon  the  sands,  and  blue 
flames  spring  from  its  circumference.  I  describe  an 
inner  circle,  and  green  flames  come  responsive  to  my 
words  of  magic.  I  touch  the  common  centre  of  both  with 
my  wand,  and  red  flames,  like  adders'  tongues,  leap  from  the 
earth.  Over  these  flames  I  place  my  caldron  filled  with 
the  blood  of  a  new-killed  doe,  and  as  it  boils  I  speak  my 
incantations  and  make  my  mystic  signs  and  passes,  watch 
ing  the  blood-red  mist  as  it  rises  to  meet  the  Spirits  of 
Air.  I  chant  my  conjurations  as  I  learned  them  from 
the  Great  Key  of  Solomon,  and  while  I  speak,  the  ruddy 
fumes  take  human  forms.  Out  of  the  dark,  fathomless 
Past  —  the  Past  of  near  four  hundred  years  ago  —  comes 
a  goodly  company  of  simple,  pompous  folk  all  having  a 
touch  of  childish  savagery  which  shows  itself  in  the  fierce 
ness  of  their  love  and  of  their  hate. 

The  fairest  castle-chateau  in  all  England's  great  do 
main,  the  walls  and  halls  of  which  were  builded  in  the 
depths  of  time,  takes  on  again  its  olden  form  quick  with 
quivering  life,  and  from  the  gates  of  Eagle  Tower  issues 
my  quaint  and  radiant  company.  Some  are  clad  in  gold 
lace,  silks,  and  taffetas  ;  some  wear  leather,  buckram  and 
clanking  steel.  While  the  caldron  boils,  their  cloud-forms 
grow  ever  more  distinct  and  definite,  till  at  length  I  can 
trace  their  every  feature.  I  see  the  color  of  their  eyes. 
I  discern  the  shades  of  their  hair.  Some  heads  are  streaked 
with  gray ;  others  are  glossy  with  the  sheen  of  youth. 


2  DOROTHY    VERNON 

As  a  climax  to  my  conjurations  I  speak  the  word  of  all 
words  magical,  "  Dorothy,"  and  lo !  as  though  God  had 
said,  "  Let  there  be  light,"  a  fair,  radiant  girl  steps  from 
the  portals  of  Haddon  Hall  and  illumines  all  my  ancient 
company  so  that  I  may  see  even  the  workings  of  their 
hearts. 

They,  and  the  events  of  their  lives,  their  joys  and  sor 
rows,  their  virtues  and  sins,  their  hatreds,  jealousies,  and  loves 
—  the  seven  numbers  in  the  total  sum  of  life  —  pass  before 
me  as  in  a  panorama,  moving  when  I  bid  them  move,  paus 
ing  when  I  bid  them  pause,  speaking  when  I  bid  them 
speak,  and  alas  !  fading  back  into  the  dim  gray  limbo  of 
the  past  long,  long  ere  I  would  have  them  go. 

But  hark  !  my  radiant  shades  are  about  to  speak.  The 
play  is  about  to  begin. 


Dorothy  Vernon   of 
Haddon   Hall 

CHAPTER   I 

I    RIDE    DOWN    TO    HADDON 

SINCE  I  play  no  mean  part  in  the  events  of  this 
chronicle,  a  few  words  concerning  my  own  history 
previous  to  the  opening  of  the  story  I  am  about  to 
tell  you  will  surely  not  be  amiss,  and  they  may  help  you 
to  a  better  understanding  of  my  narrative. 

To  begin  with  an  unimportant  fact  —  unimportant,  that 
is,  to  you  —  my  name  is  Malcolm  Francois  de  Lorraine 
Vernon.  My  father  was  cousin-german  to  Sir  George 
Vernon,  at  and  near  whose  home,  Haddon  Hall  in  Derby 
shire,  occurred  the  events  which  will  furnish  my  theme. 

Of  the  ancient  lineage  of  the  house  of  Vernon  I  need 
not  speak.  You  already  know  that  the  family  is  one  of 
the  oldest  in  England,  and  while  it  is  not  of  the  highest 
nobility,  it  is  quite  gentle  and  noble  enough  to  please  those 
who  bear  its  honored  name.  My  mother  boasted  nobler 
blood  than  that  of  the  Vernons.  She  was  of  the  princely 
French  house  of  Guise  —  a  niece  and  ward  to  the  Great 
Duke,  for  whose  sake  I  was  named. 

My  father,  being  a  younger  brother,  sought  adventure 
in  the  land  of  France,  where  his  handsome  person  and 
engaging  manner  won  the  smiles  of  Dame  Fortune  and 
my  mother  at  one  and  the  same  cast.  In  due  time  I  was 
born,  and  upon  the  day  following  that  great  event  ray 

3 


4.  DOROTHY    VERNON 

father  died.  On  the  day  of  his  burial  my  poor  mother, 
unable  to  find  in  me  either  compensation  or  consolation 
for  the  loss  of  her  child's  father,  also  died,  of  a  broken 
heart,  it  was  said.  But  God  was  right,  as  usual,  in  taking 
my  parents  ;  for  I  should  have  brought  them  no  happiness, 
unless  perchance  they  could  have  moulded  my  life  to  a 
better  form  than  it  has  had  —  a  doubtful  chance,  since  our 
great  virtues  and  our  chief  faults  are  born  and  die  with 
us.  My  faults,  alas !  have  been  many  and  great.  In  my 
youth  I  knew  but  one  virtue :  to  love  my  friend ;  and  that 
was  strong  within  me.  How  fortunate  for  us  it  would  be 
if  we  could  begin  our  life  in  wisdom  and  end  it  in  sim 
plicity,  instead  of  the  reverse  which  now  obtains ! 

I  remained  with  my  granduncle,  the  Great  Duke,  and 
was  brought  up  amid  the  fighting,  vice,  and  piety  of  his 
sumptuous  court.  I  was  trained  to  arms,  and  at  an  early 
age  became  Esquire  in  Waiting  to  his  Grace  of  Guise. 
Most  of  my  days  between  my  fifteenth  and  twenty-fifth 
years  were  spent  in  the  wars.  At  the  age  of  twenty-five 
I  returned  to  the  chateau,  there  to  reside  as  my  uncle's 
representative,  and  to  endure  the  ennui  of  peace.  At  the 
chateau  I  found  a  fair,  tall  girl,  fifteen  years  of  age :  Mary 
Stuart,  Queen  of  Scotland,  soon  afterward  Queen  of 
France  and  rightful  heiress  to  the  English  throne.  The 
ennui  of  peace,  did  I  say  ?  Soon  I  had  no  fear  of  its 
depressing  effect,  for  Mary  Stuart  was  one  of  those 
women  near  whose  fascinations  peace  does  not  thrive. 
When  I  found  her  at  the  chateau,  my  martial  ardor  lost  its 
warmth.  Another  sort  of  flame  took  up  its  home  in  my  heart, 
and  no  power  could  have  turned  me  to  the  wars  again. 

Ah  !  what  a  gay,  delightful  life,  tinctured  with  bitterness, 
we  led  in  the  grand  old  chateau,  and  looking  back  at  it  how 
heartless,  godless,  and  empty  it  seems.  Do  not  from  these 
words  conclude  that  I  am  a  fanatic,  nor  that  I  shall  pour 
into  your  ears  a  ranter's  tale;  for  cant  is  more  to  be  despised 


I    RIDE    DOWN    TO     HADDON  5 

even  than  godlessness ;  but  during  the  period  of  my  life  of 
which  I  shall  write  I  learned  —  but  what  I  learned  I  shall 
in  due  time  tell  you. 

While  at  the  court  of  Guise  I,  like  many  another  man, 
conceived  for  Mary  Stuart  a  passion  which  lay  heavy  upon 
my  heart  for  many  years.  Sweethearts  I  had  by  the  scores, 
but  she  held  my  longings  from  all  of  them  until  I  felt  the 
touch  of  a  pure  woman's  love,  and  then  —  but  again  I  am 
going  beyond  my  story. 

I  did  not  doubt,  nor  do  I  hesitate  to  say,  that  my  passion 
was  returned  by  Mary  with  a  fervor  which  she  felt  for  no 
other  lover ;  but  she  was  a  queen,  and  I,  compared  with  her, 
was  nobody.  For  this  difference  of  rank  I  have  since  had 
good  cause  to  be  thankful.  Great  beauty  is  diffusive  in 
its  tendency.  Like  the  sun,  it  cannot  shine  for  one  alone. 
Still,  it  burns  and  dazzles  the  one  as  if  it  shone  for  him  and 
for  no  other ;  and  he  who  basks  in  its  rays  need  have  no 
fear  of  the  ennui  of  peace. 

The  time  came  when  I  tasted  the  unutterable  bitterness 
of  Mary's  marriage  to  a  simpering  fool,  Francis  II.,  whom 
she  loathed,  notwithstanding  absurd  stories  of  their  sweet 
courtship  and  love. 

After  her  marriage  to  Francis,  Mary  became  hard  and 
callous  of  heart,  and  all  the  world  knows  her  sad  history. 
The  stories  of  Darnley,  Rizzio,  and  Bothwell  will  be  rich 
morsels,  I  suppose,  for  the  morbid  minds  of  men  and 
women  so  long  as  books  are  read  and  scandal  is  loved. 

Ah,  well,  that  was  long  ago ;  so  long  ago  that  now  as 
I  write  it  seems  but  a  shadow  upon  the  horizon  of  time. 

And  so  it  happened  that  Francis  died,  and  when  the 
queen  went  back  to  Scotland  to  ascend  her  native  throne, 
I  went  with  her,  and  mothlike  hovered  near  the  blaze  that 
burned  but  did  not  warm  me. 

Then  in  the  course  of  time  came  the  Darnley  tragedy. 
I  saw  Rizzio  killed.  Gods !  what  a  scene  for  hell  was  that ! 


6  DOROTHY    VERNON 

Then  followed  the  Bothwell  disgrace,  the  queen's  imprison 
ment  at  Lochleven,  and  my  own  flight  from  Scotland  to 
save  my  head. 

You  will  hear  of  Mary  again  in  this  history,  and  still 
clinging  to  her  you  will  find  that  same  strange  fatality  which 
during  all  her  life  brought  evils  upon  her  that  were  infec 
tious  to  her  friends  and  wrought  their  ruin. 

One  evening,  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  1567,  I  was 
sitting  moodily  before  my  fire  in  the  town  of  Dundee, 
brooding  over  Mary's  disgraceful  liaison  with  Bothwell. 
I  had  solemnly  resolved  tha'  I  would  see  her  never  again, 
and  that  I  would  turn  my  back  upon  the  evil  life  I  had  led 
for  so  many  years,  and  would  seek  to  acquire  that  quies 
cence  of  nature  which  is  necessary  to  an  endurable  old  age. 
A  tumultuous  soul  in  the  breast  of  an  old  man  breeds 
torture,  but  age,  with  the  heart  at  rest,  I  have  found  is  the 
best  season  of  life. 

In  the  midst  of  my  gloomy  thoughts  and  good  resolves 
my  friend,  Sir  Thomas  Douglas,  entered  my  room  without 
warning  and  in  great  agitation. 

"  Are  you  alone  ?  "  he  asked  hurriedly,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Save  for  your  welcome  presence,  Sir  Thomas,"  I 
answered,  offering  my  hand. 

"  The  queen  has  been  seized,"  he  whispered,  "  and 
warrants  for  high  treason  have  been  issued  against  many 
of  her  friends  —  you  among  the  number.  Officers  are  now 
coming  to  serve  the  writ.  I  rode  hither  in  all  haste  to 
warn  you.  Lose  not  a  moment,  but  flee  for  your  life. 
The  Earl  of  Murray  will  be  made  regent  to-morrow." 

"  My  servant  ?     My  horse  ?  "     I  responded. 

"  Do  not  wait.  Go  at  once.  I  shall  try  to  send  a  horse 
for  you  to  Craig's  ferry.  If  I  fail,  cross  the  firth  without  one. 
Here  is  a  purse.  The  queen  sends  it  to  you.  Go!  Go!  " 

I  acted  upon  the  advice  of  Sir  Thomas  and  hurried  into 
the  street,  snatching  up  my  hat,  cloak,  and  sword  as  I 


I    RIDE    DOWN    TO    HADDON  7 

went.  Night  had  fallen,  and  darkness  and  rain,  which  at 
first  I  was  inclined  to  curse,  proved  to  be  my  friends.  I 
sought  the  back  streets  and  alleys  and  walked  rapidly 
toward  the  west  gates  of  the  city.  Upon  arriving  at  the 
gates  I  found  them  closed.  I  aroused  the  warden,  and  with 
the  artful  argument  of  gold  had  almost  persuaded  him  to  let 
me  pass.  My  evident  eagerness  was  my  undoing,  for  in 
the  hope  of  obtaining  more  gold  the  warden  delayed  open 
ing  the  gates  till  two  men  approached  on  horseback,  and, 
dismounting,  demanded  my  surrender. 

I  laughed  and  said  :  "  Two  against  one  !  Gentlemen, 
I  am  caught."  I  then  drew  my  sword  as  if  to  offer  it  to 
them.  My  action  threw  the  men  off  their  guard,  and  when 
I  said,  "  Here  it  is,"  I  gave  it  to  the  one  standing  near 
me,  but  I  gave  it  to  him  point  first  and  in  the  heart. 

It  was  a  terrible  thing  to  do,  and  bordered  so  closely  on 
a  broken  parole  that  I  was  troubled  in  conscience.  I  had 
not,  however,  given  my  parole,  nor  had  I  surrendered ; 
and  if  I  had  done  so  —  if  a  man  may  take  another's  life 
in  self-defence,  may  he  not  lie  to  save  himself  ? 

The  other  man  shot  at  me  with  his  fusil,  but  missed. 
He  then  drew  his  sword;  but  he  was  no  match  for  me, 
and  soon  I  left  him  sprawling  on  the  ground,  dead  or 
alive,  I  knew  not  which. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  write  I  was  thirty-five  years  of 
age,  and  since  my  fifteenth  birthday  my  occupations  had 
been  arms  and  the  ladies  —  two  arts  requiring  constant  use 
if  one  would  remain  expert  in  their  practice. 

I  escaped,  and  ran  along  the  wall  to  a  deep  breach 
which  had  been  left  unrepaired.  Over  the  sharp  rocks 
I  clambered,  and  at  the  risk  of  breaking  my  neck  I  jumped 
off  the  wall  into  the  moat,  which  was  almost  dry.  Dawn 
was  breaking  when  I  found  a  place  to  ascend  from  the  moat, 
and  I  hastened  to  the  fields  and  forests,  where  all  day  and 
all  night  long  I  wandered  without  food  or  drink.  Two 


8  DOROTHY    VERNON 

hours  before  sunrise  next  morning  I  reached  Craig's  Ferry. 
The  horse  sent  by  Douglas  awaited  me,  but  the  ferry- 
master  had  been  prohibited  from  carrying  passengers  across 
the  firth,  and  I  could  not  take  the  horse  in  a  small  boat.  In 
truth,  I  was  in  great  alarm  lest  I  should  be  unable  to  cross, 
but  I  walked  up  the  Tay  a  short  distance,  and  found  a 
fisherman,  who  agreed  to  take  me  over  in  his  frail  craft. 
Hardly  had  we  started  when  another  boat  put  out  from 
shore  in  pursuit  of  us.  We  made  all  sail,  but  our  pursuers 
overtook  us  when  we  were  within  half  a  furlong  of  the 
south  bank,  and  as  there  were  four  men  in  the  other  boat, 
all  armed  with  fusils,  I  peaceably  stepped  into  their  craft 
and  handed  my  sword  to  their  captain. 

I  seated  myself  on  one  of  the  thwarts  well  forward  in  the 
boat.  By  my  side  was  a  heavy  iron  boat-hook.  I  had 
noticed  that  all  the  occupants  of  the  boat,  except  the 
fisherman  who  sailed  her,  wore  armor ;  and  when  I  saw 
the  boat-hook,  a  diabolical  thought  entered  my  mind  and 
I  immediately  acted  upon  its  suggestion.  Noiselessly  I 
grasped  the  hook,  and  with  its  point  pried  loose  a  board  in 
the  bottom  of  the  boat,  first  having  removed  my  boots,  cloak, 
and  doublet.  When  the  board  was  loosened  I  pressed 
my  heel  against  it  with  all  the  force  I  could  muster, 
and  through  an  opening  six  inches  broad  and  four  feet 
long  came  a  flood  of  water  that  swamped  the  boat  before 
one  could  utter  twenty  words.  I  heard  a  cry  from  one  of 
the  men  :  "  The  dog  has  scuttled  the  boat.  Shoot  him  !  " 
At  the  same  instant  the  blaze  and  noise  of  two  fusils  broke 
the  still  blackness  of  the  night,  but  I  was  overboard  and 
the  powder  and  lead  were  wasted.  The  next  moment  the 
boat  sank  in  ten  fathoms  of  water,  and  with  it  went  the 
men  in  armor.  I  hope  the  fisherman  saved  himself.  I 
have  often  wondered  if  even  the  law  of  self-preservation 
justified  my  act.  It  is  an  awful  thing  to  inflict  death,  but 
it  is  worse  to  endure  it,  and  I  feel  sure  that  I  am  foolish 


I    RIDE    DOWN    TO    HADDON          9 

to  allow  my  conscience  to  trouble  me  for  the  sake  of  those 
who  would  have  led  me  back  to  the  scaffold. 

I  fear  you  will  think  that  six  dead  men  in  less  than 
as  many  pages  make  a  record  of  bloodshed  giving  promise 
of  terrible  things  to  come,  but  I  am  glad  I  can  reassure 
you  on  that  point.  Although  there  may  be  some  good 
fighting  ahead  of  us,  I  believe  the  last  man  has  been 
killed  of  whom  I  shall  chronicle  —  the  last,  that  is,  in 
fight  or  battle. 

In  truth,  the  history  which  you  are  about  to  read  is  not 
my  own.  It  is  the  story  of  a  beautiful,  wilful  girl,  who 
was  madly  in  love  with  the  one  man  in  all  the  world  whom 
she  should  have  avoided  —  as  girls  are  wont  to  be.  This 
perverse  tendency,  philosophers  tell  us,  is  owing  to  the 
fact  that  the  unattainable  is  strangely  alluring  to  woman 
kind.  I,  being  a  man,  shall  not,  of  course,  dwell  upon 
the  foibles  of  my  own  sex.  It  were  a  foolish  candor. 

As  I  said,  there  will  be  some  good  fighting  ahead  of  us, 
for  love  and  battle  usually  go  together.  One  must  have 
warm,  rich  blood  to  do  either  well ;  and,  save  religion, 
there  is  no  source  more  fruitful  of  quarrels  and  death  than 
that  passion  which  is  the  source  of  life. 

You,  of  course,  know  without  the  telling,  that  I  reached 
land  safely  after  I  scuttled  the  boat,  else  I  should  not  be 
writing  this  forty  years  afterwards. 

The  sun  had  risen  when  I  waded  ashore.  I  was  sword- 
less,  coatless,  hatless,  and  bootless ;  but  I  carried  a  well- 
filled  purse  in  my  belt.  Up  to  that  time  I  had  given  no 
thought  to  my  ultimate  destination ;  but  being  for  the 
moment  safe,  I  pondered  the  question  and  determined  to 
make  my  way  to  Haddon  Hall  in  Derbyshire,  where  I 
was  sure  a  warm  welcome  would  await  me  from  my 
cousin,  Sir  George  Vernon.  How  I  found  a  peasant's 
cottage,  purchased  a  poor  horse  and  a  few  coarse  garments, 
and  how  in  the  disguise  of  a  peasant  I  rode  southward  to 


io  DOROTHY    VERNON 

the  English  border,  avoiding  the  cities  and  the  main  high 
ways,  might  interest  you ;  but  I  am  eager  to  come  to  my 
story,  and  I  will  not  tell  you  of  my  perilous  journey. 

One  frosty  morning,  after  many  hairbreadth  escapes,  I 
found  myself  well  within  the  English  border,  and  turned 
my  horse's  head  toward  the  city  of  Carlisle.  There  I 
purchased  a  fine  charger.  I  bought  clothing  fit  for  a 
gentleman,  a  new  sword,  a  hand-fusil,  a  breastplate,  and  a 
steel-lined  cap,  and  feeling  once  again  like  a  man  rather 
than  like  a  half-drowned  rat,  I  turned  southward  for  Derby 
shire  and  Haddon  Hall. 

When  I  left  Scotland  I  had  no  fear  of  meeting  danger 
in  England ;  but  at  Carlisle  I  learned  that  Elizabeth  held 
no  favor  toward  Scottish  refugees.  I  also  learned  that  the 
direct  road  from  Carlisle  to  Haddon,  by  way  of  Buxton, 
was  infested  with  English  spies  who  were  on  the  watch 
for  friends  of  the  deposed  Scottish  queen.  Several  Scotch 
men  had  been  arrested,  and  it  was  the  general  opinion 
that  upon  one  pretext  or  another  they  would  be  hanged.  I 
therefore  chose  a  circuitous  road  leading  to  the  town  of 
Derby,  which  lay  south  of  Haddon  at  a  distance  of  six  or 
seven  leagues.  It  would  be  safer  for  me  to  arrive  at  Had 
don  travelling  from  the  south  than  from  the  north.  Thus, 
after  many  days,  I  rode  into  Derby-town  and  stabled  my 
horse  at  the  Royal  Arms. 

I  called  for  supper,  and  while  I  was  waiting  for  my  joint 
of  beef  a  stranger  entered  the  room  and  gave  his  orders 
in  a  free,  offhand  manner  that  stamped  him  a  person  of 
quality. 

The  night  outside  was  cold.  While  the  stranger  and 
I  sat  before  the  fire  we  caught  its  infectious  warmth,  and 
when  he  showed  a  disposition  to  talk,  I  gladly  fell  in  with 
his  humor.  Soon  we  were  filling  our  glasses  from  the 
same  bowl  of  punch,  and  we  seemed  to  be  on  good  terms 
with  each  other.  But  when  God  breathed  into  the  human 


I    RIDE    DOWN    TO    HADDON         n 

body  a  part  of  himself,  by  some  mischance  He  permitted 
the  devil  to  slip  into  the  tongue  and  loosen  it.  My  tongue, 
which  ordinarily  was  fairly  well  behaved,  upon  this  occasion 
quickly  brought  me  into  trouble. 

I  told  you  that  the  stranger  and  I  seemed  to  be  upon 
good  terms.  And  so  we  were  until  I,  forgetting  for  the 
moment  Elizabeth's  hatred  of  Mary's  friends,  and  hoping 
to  learn  the  stranger's  name  and  quality,  said  :  — 

"  My  name  is  Vernon  —  Sir  Malcolm  Vernon,  knight  by 
the  hand  of  Queen  Mary  of  Scotland  and  of  France." 
This  remark,  of  course,  required  that  my  companion 
should  in  return  make  known  his  name  and  degree;  but 
in  place  of  so  doing  he  at  once  drew  away  from  me  and 
sat  in  silence.  I  was  older  than  he,  and  it  had  seemed  to 
me  quite  proper  and  right  that  I  should  make  the  first 
advance.  But  instantly  after  I  had  spoken  I  regretted  my 
words.  I  remembered  not  only  my  danger,  being  a  Scot 
tish  refugee,  but  I  also  bethought  me  that  I  had  betrayed 
myself.  Aside  from  those  causes  of  uneasiness,  the  stran 
ger's  conduct  was  an  insult  which  I  was  in  duty  bound 
not  to  overlook.  Neither  was  I  inclined  to  do  so,  for  I 
loved  to  fight.  In  truth,  I  loved  all  things  evil. 

"  I  regret,  sir,"  said  I,  after  a  moment  or  two  of  embar 
rassing  silence,  "  having  imparted  information  that  seems 
to  annoy  you.  The  Vernons,  whom  you  may  not  know, 
are  your  equals  in  blood,  it  matters  not  who  you  are." 

"  I  know  of  the  Vernons,"  he  replied  coldly,  "and  I  well 
know  that  they  are  of  good  blood  and  lineage.  As  for 
wealth,  I  am  told  Sir  George  could  easily  buy  the  estates 
of  any  six  men  in  Derbyshire." 

"  You  know  Sir  George  ?  "  I  asked  despite  myself. 

"  I  do  not  know  him,  I  am  glad  to  say,"  returned  the 
stranger. 

"By  God,  sir,  you  shall  answer  —  " 

"At  your  pleasure,  Sir  Malcolm." 


12  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"My  pleasure  is  now,"  I  retorted  eagerly. 

I  threw  off  my  doublet  and  pushed  the  table  and  chairs 
against  the  wall  to  make  room  for  the  fight ;  but  the  stran 
ger,  who  had  not  drawn  his  sword,  said :  — 

"  I  have  eaten  nothing  since  morning,  and  I  am  as  hungry 
as  a  wolf.  I  would  prefer  to  fight  after  supper ;  but  if  you 
insist  —  " 

"  I  do  insist,"  I  replied.  "  Perhaps  you  will  not  care  for 
supper  when  I  have  — 

"That  may  be  true,"  he  interrupted;  "but  before  we 
begin  I  think  it  right  to  tell  you,  without  at  all  meaning 
to  boast  of  my  skill,  that  I  can  kill  you  if  I  wish  to  do  so. 
Therefore  you  must  see  that  the  result  of  our  fight  will  be 
disagreeable  to  you  in  any  case.  You  will  die,  or  you  will 
owe  me  your  life." 

His  cool  impertinence  angered  me  beyond  endurance. 
He  to  speak  of  killing  me,  one  of  the  best  swordsmen  in 
France,  where  the  art  of  sword-play  is  really  an  art !  The 
English  are  but  bunglers  with  a  gentleman's  blade,  and 
should  restrict  themselves  to  pike  and  quarterstaff. 

"  Results  be  damned  !  "  I  answered.  "  I  can  kill  you  if 
I  wish."  Then  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  really  did  not  wish 
to  kill  the  handsome  young  fellow  toward  whom  I  felt  an 
irresistible  attraction. 

I  continued :  "  But  I  prefer  that  you  should  owe  me 
your  life.  I  do  not  wish  to  kill  you.  Guard  !  " 

My  opponent  did  not  lift  his  sword,  but  smilingly  said  :  — 

"  Then  why  do  you  insist  upon  fighting  ?  I  certainly  do 
not  wish  to  kill  you.  In  truth,  I  would  be  inclined  to  like 
you  if  you  were  not  a  Vernon." 

"  Damn  your  insolence !  Guard !  or  I  will  run  you 
through  where  you  stand,"  I  answered  angrily. 

"  But  why  do  we  fight  ? "  insisted  the  stubborn  fellow, 
with  a  coolness  that  showed  he  was  not  one  whit  in  fear 
of  me. 


I    RIDE    DOWN    TO    HADDON         13 

"  You  should  know,"  I  replied,  dropping  my  sword-point 
to  the  floor,  and  forgetting  for  the  moment  the  cause  of 
our  quarrel.  "I  —  I  do  not." 

"  Then  let  us  not  fight,"  he  answered,  "  until  we  have 
discovered  the  matter  of  our  disagreement." 

At  this  remark  neither  of  us  could  resist  smiling.  I  had 
not  fought  since  months  before,  save  for  a  moment  at  the 
gates  of  Dundee,  and  I  was  loath  to  miss  the  opportunity, 
so  I  remained  in  thought  during  the  space  of  half  a  minute 
and  remembered  our  cause  of  war. 

"  Oh !  I  recall  the  reason  for  our  fighting,"  I  replied, 
"  and  a  good  one  it  was.  You  offered  affront  to  the  name 
of  Sir  George  Vernon,  and  insultingly  refused  me  the 
courtesy  of  your  name  after  I  had  done  you  the  honor  to 
tell  you  mine." 

"  I  did  not  tell  you  my  name,"  replied  the  stranger, 
"  because  I  believed  you  would  not  care  to  hear  it ;  and  I 
said  I  was  glad  not  to  know  Sir  George  Vernon  because  — 
because  he  is  my  father's  enemy.  I  am  Sir  John  Manners, 
My  father  is  Lord  Rutland." 

Then  it  was  my  turn  to  recede.  "  You  certainly  are  right 
I  do  not  care  to  hear  your  name." 

I  put  my  sword  in  its  scabbard  and  drew  the  table  back 
to  its  former  place.  Sir  John  stood  in  hesitation  for  a 
moment  or  two,  and  then  said  :  - 

"  Sir  Malcolm,  may  we  not  declare  a  truce  for  to 
night  ?  There  is  nothing  personal  in  the  enmity  between 
us." 

"  Nothing,"  I  answered,  staring  at  the  fire,  half  regret 
ful  that  we  bore  each  other  enmity  at  all. 

"  You  hate  me,  or  believe  you  do,"  said  Manners,  "be 
cause  your  father's  cousin  hates  my  father ;  and  I  try  to 
make  myself  believe  that  I  hate  you  because  my  father 
hates  your  father's  cousin.  Are  we  not- both  mistaken  ?  " 

I  was  quick  to  anger  and  to  fight,  but  no  man's  heart 


i4  DOROTHY    VERNON 

was  more  sensitive  than  mine  to  the  fair  touch  of  a  kind 
word. 

"I  am  not  mistaken,  Sir  John,  when  I  say  that  I  do  not 
hate  you,"  I  answered. 

"  Nor  do  I  hate  you,  Sir  Malcolm.  Will  you  give  me 
vour  hand  ? " 

J 

"  Gladly,"  I  responded,  and  I  offered  my  hand  to  the 
enemy  of  my  house. 

"Landlord,"  I  cried,  "bring  us  two  bottles  of  your  best 
sack.  The  best  in  the  house,  mind  you." 

After  our  amicable  understanding,  Sir  John  and  myself 
were  very  comfortable  together,  and  when  the  sack  and 
roast  beef,  for  which  the  Royal  Arms  was  justly  famous, 
were  brought  in,  we  sat  down  to  an  enjoyable  meal. 

After  supper  Sir  John  lighted  a  small  roll  or  stick  made 
from  the  leaves  of  tobacco.  The  stick  was  called  a  cigarro, 
and  I,  proud  not  to  be  behind  him  in  new-fashioned,  gentle 
manly  accomplishments,  called  to  the  landlord  for  a  pipe. 
Manners  interrupted  me  when  I  gave  the  order  and  offered 
me  a  cigarro  which  I  gladly  accepted. 

Despite  my  effort  to  reassure  myself,  I  could  not  quite 
throw  off  a  feeling  of  uneasiness  whenever  I  thought  of  the 
manner  in  which  I  had  betrayed  to  Sir  John  the  fact  that  I 
was  a  friend  to  Mary  Stuart.  I  knew  that  treachery  was  not 
native  to  English  blood,  and  my  knowledge  of  mankind  had 
told  me  that  the  vice  could  not  live  in  Sir  John  Manners's 
heart.  But  he  had  told  me  of  his  residence  at  the  court  of 
Elizabeth,  and  I  feared  trouble  might  come  to  me  from  the 
possession  of  so  dangerous  a  piece  of  knowledge  by  an 
enemy  of  my  house. 

I  did  not  speak  my  thoughts  upon  the  matter,  and  we 
sat  the  evening  through  discussing  many  subjects.  We 
warmed  toward  each  other  and  became  quite  confidential. 
I  feel  ashamed  when  I  admit  that  one  of  my  many  sins  was 
an  excessive  indulgence  in  wine.  While  I  was  not  a 


I    RIDE    DOWN    TO    HADDON         15 

drunkard,  I  was  given  to  my  cups  sometimes  in  a  degree 
both  dangerous  and  disgraceful ;  and  during  the  evening 
of  which  I  have  just  spoken  I  talked  to  Sir  John  with 
a  freedom  that  afterward  made  me  blush,  although  my 
indiscretion  brought  me  no  greater  trouble. 

My  outburst  of  confidence  was  prompted  by  Sir  John's 
voluntary  assurance  that  I  need  fear  nothing  from  having 
told  him  that  I  was  a  friend  of  Queen  Mary.  The  Scottish 
queen's  name  had  been  mentioned,  and  Sir  John  had 
said  :  — 

"  I  take  it,  Sir  Malcolm,  that  you  are  newly  arrived  in 
England,  and  I  feel  sure  you  will  accept  the  advice  I  am 
about  to  offer  in  the  kindly  spirit  in  which  it  is  meant. 
I  deem  it  unsafe  for  you  to  speak  of  Queen  Mary's 
friendship  in  the  open  manner  you  have  used  toward 
me.  Her  friends  are  not  welcome  visitors  to  England,  and 
I  fear  evil  will  befall  those  who  come  to  us  as  refugees. 
You  need  have  no  fear  that  I  will  betray  you.  Your  secret 
is  safe  with  me.  I  will  give  you  hostage.  I  also  am  Queen 
Mary's  friend.  I  would  not,  of  course,  favor  her  against 
the  interest  of  our  own  queen.  To  Elizabeth  I  am  and 
always,  shall  be  loyal ;  but  the  unfortunate  Scottish  queen 
has  my  sympathy  in  her  troubles,  and  I  should  be  glad  to 
help  her.  I  hear  she  is  most  beautiful  and  gentle  in 
person." 

Thus  you  see  the  influence  of  Mary's  beauty  reached 
from  Edinburgh  to  London.  A  few  months  only  were  to 
pass  till  this  conversation  was  to  be  recalled  by  each  of 
us,  and  the  baneful  influence  of  Mary's  beauty  upon  all 
whom  it  touched  was  to  be  shown  more  fatally  than  had 
appeared  even  in  my  own  case.  In  truth,  my  reason  for 
speaking  so  fully  concerning  the  Scottish  queen  and  myself 
will  be  apparent  to  you  in  good  time. 

When  we  were  about  to  part  for  the  night,  I  asked  Sir 
John,  "What  road  do  you  travel  to-morrow  ? " 


16  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  I  am  going  to  Rutland  Castle  by  way  of  Rowsley,"  he 
answered. 

"  I,  too,  travel  by  Rowsley  to  Haddon  Hall.  Shall  we 
not  extend  our  truce  over  the  morrow  and  ride  together  as 
far  as  Rowsley  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  make  the  truce  perpetual,"  he  replied 
laughingly. 

"  So  shall  I,"  was  my  response. 

Thus  we  sealed  our  compact  and  knitted  out  of  the  warp 
and  woof  of  enmity  a  friendship  which  became  a  great 
joy  and  a  sweet  grief  to  each  of  us. 

That  night  I  lay  for  hours  thinking  of  the  past  and 
wondering  about  the  future.  I  had  tasted  the  sweets — all 
flavored  with  bitterness  —  of  court  life.  Women,  wine, 
gambling,  and  fighting  had  given  me  the  best  of  all  the 
evils  they  had  to  offer.  Was  I  now  to  drop  that  valorous 
life,  which  men  so  ardently  seek,  and  was  I  to  take  up  a 
browsing,  kinelike  existence  at  Haddon  Hall,  there  to  drone 
away  my  remaining  days  in  fat'ning,  peace,  and  quietude  ? 
I  could  not  answer  my  own  question,  but  this  I  knew  :  that 
Sir  George  Vernon  was  held  in  high  esteem  by  Elizabeth, 
and  I  felt  that  his  house  was,  perhaps,  the  only  spot  in 
England  where  my  head  could  safely  lie.  I  also  had  other 
plans  concerning  Sir  George  and  his  household  which  I  re 
gret  to  say  I  imparted  to  Sir  John  in  the  sack-prompted  out 
pouring  of  my  confidence.  The  plans  of  which  I  shall  now 
speak  had  been  growing  in  favor  with  me  for  several 
months  previous  to  my  enforced  departure  from  Scotland, 
and  that  event  had  almost  determined  me  to  adopt  them. 
Almost,  I  say,  for  when  I  approached  Haddon  Hall  I 
wavered  in  my  resolution. 

At  the  time  when  I  had  last  visited  Sir  George  at  Had 
don,  his  daughter  Dorothy — Sir  George  called  her  Doll  — 
was  a  slipshod  girl  of  twelve.     She  was  exceedingly  plain, 
and  gave  promise  of  always  so  remaining.     Sir  George, 


I    RIDE    DOWN    TO    HADDON         17 

who  had  no  son,  was  anxious  that  his  vast  estates  should 
remain  in  the  Vernon  name.  He  had  upon  the  occasion 
of  my  last  visit  intimated  to  me  that  when  Doll  should 
become  old  enough  to  marry,  and  I,  perchance,  had  had 
my  fill  of  knocking  about  the  world,  a  marriage  might  be 
brought  about  between  us  which  would  enable  him  to  leave 
his  estates  to  his  daughter  and  still  to  retain  the  much-loved 
Vernon  name  for  his  descendants. 

Owing  to  Doll's  rusty  red  hair,  slim  shanks,  and  freckled 
face,  the  proposition  had  not  struck  me  with  favor,  yet  to 
please  Sir  George  I  had  feigned  acquiescence,  and  had 
said  that  when  the  time  should  come,  we  would  talk  it 
over.  Before  my  flight  from  Scotland  I  had  often  thought 
of  Sir  George's  proposition  made  six  or  seven  years 
before.  My  love  for  Mary  Stuart  had  dimmed  the  light 
of  other  beauties  in  my  eyes,  and  I  had  never  married. 
For  many  months  before  my  flight,  however,  I  had  not 
been  permitted  to  bask  in  the  light  of  Mary's  smiles  to 
the  extent  of  my  wishes.  Younger  men,  among  them 
Darnley,  who  was  but  eighteen  years  of  age,  were  pre 
ferred  to  me,  and  I  had  begun  to  consider  the  advisability 
of  an  orderly  retreat  from  the  Scottish  court  before  my 
lustre  should  be  entirely  dimmed.  It  is  said  that  a  man  is 
young  so  long  as  he  is  strong,  and  I  was  strong  as  in  the 
days  of  my  youth.  My  cheeks  were  fresh,  my  eyes  were 
bright,  and  my  hair  was  red  as  when  I  was  twenty,  and 
without  a  thread  of  gray.  Still,  my  temperament  was 
more  exacting  and  serious,  and  the  thought  of  becoming- 
settled  for  life,  or  rather  for  old  age  and  death,  was  grow 
ing  in  favor  with  me.  With  that  thought  came  always 
a  suggestion  of  slim,  freckled  Dorothy  and  Sir  George's 
offer.  She  held  out  to  me  wealth  and  position,  a  peaceful 
home  for  my  old  age,  and  a  grave  with  a  pompous,  pious 
epitaph  at  Bakewell  church,  in  death. 

When  I  was  compelled  to  leave  Scotland,  circumstances 


i8  DOROTHY    VERNON 

forced  me  to  a  decision,  and  my  resolution  was  quickly 
taken.  I  would  go  to  Derbyshire  and  would  marry  Doro 
thy.  I  did  not  expect  ever  again  to  feel  great  love  for  a 
woman.  The  fuse,  I  thought,  had  burned  out  when  I 
loved  Mary  Stuart.  One  woman,  I  believed,  was  like  an 
other  to  me,  and  Dorothy  would  answer  as  well  as  any  for 
my  wife.  I  could  and  would  be  kind  to  her,  and  that 
alone  in  time  would  make  me  fond.  It  is  true,  my  affec 
tion  would  be  of  a  fashion  more  comfortable  than  exciting  ; 
but  who,  having  passed  his  galloping  youth,  will  contemn 
the  joys  that  come  from  making  others  happy  ?  I  believe 
there  is  no  person,  past  the  age  of  forty,  at  all  given  to 
pondering  the  whys  of  life,  who  will  gainsay  that  the  joy 
we  give  to  others  is  our  chief  source  of  happiness.  Why, 
then,  should  not  a  wise  man,  through  purely  selfish 
motives,  begin  early  to  cultivate  the  gentle  art  of  giving 
joy? 

But  the  fates  were  to  work  out  the  destinies  of  Dorothy 
and  myself  without  our  assistance.  Self-willed,  arrogant 
creatures  are  those  same  fates,  but  they  save  us  a  deal  of 
trouble  by  assuming  our  responsibilities. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  IRON,  THE  SEED,  THE  CLOUD,  AND  THE  RAIN 

IHE  morning  following  my  meeting  with  Manners, 
he  and   I   made  an  early  start.     An  hour  before 
noon  we  rode  into  the  town  of  Rowsley  and  halted 
at  The  Peacock  for  dinner. 

When  we  entered  the  courtyard  of  the  inn  we  saw 
three  ladies  warmly  wrapped  in  rich  furs  leave  a  pon 
derous  coach  and  walk  to  the  inn  door,  which  they  entered. 
One  of  them  was  an  elderly  lady  whom  I  recognized  as  my 
cousin,  Lady  Dorothy  Crawford,  sister  to  Sir  George  Ver- 
non.  The  second  was  a  tall,  beautiful  girl,  with  an 
exquisite  ivory-like  complexion  and  a  wonderful  crown  of 
fluffy  red  hair  which  encircled  her  head  like  a  halo  of 
sunlit  glory.  I  could  compare  its  wondrous  lustre  to  no 
color  save  that  of  molten  gold  deeply  alloyed  with  copper. 
But  that  comparison  tells  you  nothing.  I  can  find  no 
simile  with  which  to  describe  the  beauties  of  its  shades  and 
tints.  It  was  red,  but  it  also  was  golden,  as  if  the  enam 
oured  sun  had  gilded  every  hair  with  its  radiance.  In  all 
my  life  I  had  never  seen  anything  so  beautiful  as  this  tall 
girl's  hair.  Still,  it  was  the  Vernon  red.  My  cousin,  Sir 
George,  and  many  Vernons  had  hair  of  the  same  color. 
Yet  the  girl's  hair  differed  from  all  other  I  had  ever  seen. 
It  had  a  light  and  a  lustre  of  its  own  which  was  as  dis 
tinct  from  the  ordinary  Vernon  red,  although  that  is  very 
good  and  we  are  proud  of  it,  as  the  sheen  of  gold  is  from 

19 


20  DOROTHY    VERNON 

the  glitter  of  brass.  I  knew  by  the  girl's  hair  that  she 
was  my  cousin,  Dorothy  Vernon,  whom  I  reluctantly  had 
come  to  wed. 

I  asked  myself,  "  Can  this  be  the  plain,  freckled  girl  I 
knew  seven  years  ago  ?  "  Compared  with  her  beauty  even 
Mary  Stuart's  was  pale  as  the  vapid  moon  at  dawn.  The 
girl  seemed  to  be  the  incarnated  spirit  of  universal  life 
and  light,  and  I  had  condescendingly  come  to  marry  this 
goddess.  I  felt  a  dash  of  contemptuous  pity  for  my  com 
placent  self. 

In  my  cogitations  concerning  marriage  with  Dorothy 
Vernon,  I  had  not  at  all  taken  into  consideration  her  per 
sonal  inclination.  A  girl,  after  all,  is  but  the  chattel  of 
her  father,  and  must,  perforce,  if  needs  be,  marry  the  man 
who  is  chosen  for  her.  But  leaving  parental  authority  out 
of  the  question,  a  girl  with  brick-red  hair  and  a  multitude 
of  freckles  need  not  be  considered  when  an  agreeable, 
handsome  man  offers  himself  as  a  husband.  She  usually 
is  willing  to  the  point  of  eagerness.  That  is  the  manner 
in  which  I  had  thought  about  Dorothy  Vernon,  if  I  con 
sidered  her  at  all.  But  when  a  man  is  about  to  offer  him 
self  to  a  goddess,  he  is  apt  to  pause.  In  such  a  case 
there  are  always  two  sides  to  the  question,  and  nine 
chances  to  one  the  goddess  will  coolly  take  possession 
of  both.  When  I  saw  Dorothy  in  the  courtyard  of  The 
Peacock,  I  instantly  knew  that  she  was  a  girl  to  be 
taken  into  account  in  all  matters  wherein  she  was  person 
ally  concerned.  Her  every  feature,  every  poise  and  ges 
ture,  unconsciously  bore  the  stamp  of  "  I  will  "  or  "  I  will 
not." 

Walking  by  Dorothy's  side,  holding  her  hand,  was  a  fair 
young  woman  whose  hair  was  black,  and  whose  skin  was 
of  the  white,  clear  complexion  such  as  we  see  in  the  faces 
of  nuns.  She  walked  with  a  hesitating,  cautious  step,  and 
clung  to  Dorothy,  who  was  gentle  and  attentive  to  her. 


THE    IRON    AND    THE    SEED          21 

But  of  this  fair,  pale  girl  I  have  so  much  to  say  in  the 
pages  to  come  that  I  shall  not  further  describe  her  here. 

When  the  ladies  had  entered  the  inn,  my  companion  and 
I  dismounted,  and  Manners  exclaimed  :  — 

"  Did  you  see  the  glorious  girl  who  but  now  entered  the 
inn  door  ?  Gods  !  I  never  before  saw  such  beauty." 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "  I  know  her." 

"  How  fortunate  I  am,"  said  Sir  John.  "Perhaps  I  may 
induce  you  to  present  me  to  her.  At  least  you  will  tell  me 
her  name,  that  I  may  seek  her  acquaintance  by  the  usual 
means.  I  am  not  susceptible,  but  by  my  faith,  I  —  I  —  she 
looked  at  me  from  the  door-steps,  and  when  I  caught  her 
eyes  it  seemed  —  that  is,  I  saw  —  or  I  felt  a  stream  of 
burning  life  enter  my  soul,  and  —  but  you  will  think  I  am 
a  fool.  I  know  I  am  a  fool.  But  I  feel  as  if  I  were  —  as 
if  I  had  been  bewitched  in  one  little  second  of  time,  and 
by  a  single  glance  from  a  pair  of  brown  eyes.  You  cer 
tainly  will  think  I  am  a  fool,  but  you  cannot  understand  —  " 

"  Why  can't  I  understand  ? "  I  asked  indignantly.  "  The 
thing  you  have  seen  and  felt  has  been  in  this  world  long 
enough  for  every  man  to  understand.  Eve  used  it  upon 
Adam.  I  can't  understand  ?  Damme,  sir,  do  you  think  I 
am  a  clod  ?  I  have  felt  it  fifty  times." 

"Not  —  "  began  Sir  John,  hesitatingly. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  I  replied.  "You,  too,  will  have  the  same 
experience  fifty  times  again  before  you  are  my  age." 

"But  the  lady,"  said  Sir  John,  "tell  me  of  her.  Will 
you  —  can  you  present  me  to  her  ?  If  not,  will  you  tell  me 
who  she  is  ?  " 

I  remained  for  a  moment  in  thought,  wondering  if  it 
were  right  for  me  to  tell  him  that  the  girl  whom  he  so 
much  admired  was  the  daughter  of  his  father's  enemy.  I 
could  see  no  way  of  keeping  Dorothy's  name  from  him,  so 
I  determined  to  tell  him. 

"She  is  my  cousin,  Mistress  Dorothy  Vernon,"  I  said. 


22  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"The  eldest  lady  is  Lady  Dorothy  Crawford.  The  beauti 
ful,  pale  girl  I  do  not  know." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  returned  Sir  John;  "  she  is  the  lady  whom 
you  have  come  to  marry,  is  she  not  ? " 

"  Y-e-s,"  said  I,  hesitatingly. 

"  You  certainly  are  to  be  congratulated,"  returned  Man 
ners. 

"  I  doubt  if  I  shall  marry  her,"  I  replied. 

"Why?"  asked  Manners. 

"  For  many  reasons,  chief  among  which  is  her  beauty." 

"That  is  an  unusual  reason  for  declining  a  woman," 
responded  Sir  John,  with  a  low  laugh. 

"  I  think  it  is  quite  usual,"  I  replied,  having  in  mind  the 
difficulty  with  which  great  beauties  are  won.  But  I  con 
tinued,  "  A  woman  of  moderate  beauty  makes  a  safer 
wife,  and  in  the  long  run  is  more  comforting  than  one  who 
is  too  attractive." 

"You  are  a  philosopher,  Sir  Malcolm,"  said  Manners, 
laughingly. 

"  And  a  liar,"  I  muttered  to  myself.  I  felt  sure,  how 
ever,  that  I  should  never  marry  Dorothy  Vernon,  and  I  do 
not  mind  telling  you,  even  at  this  early  stage  in  my  history, 
that  I  was  right  in  my  premonition.  I  did  not  marry  her. 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  now  be  compelled  to  give  you  up  to 
your  relatives,"  said  Manners. 

"  Yes,"  I  returned,  "we  must  say  good-by  for  the  present ; 
but  if  we  do  not  meet  again,  it  shall  not  be  for  the  lack  of 
my  wishing.  Your  father  and  Sir  George  would  feel  deeply 
injured,  should  they  learn  of  our  friendship,  therefore  — 

"You  are  quite  right,"  he  interrupted.  "It  is  better 
that  no  one  should  know  of  it.  Nevertheless,  between 
you  and  me  let  there  be  no  feud." 

"  The  secrecy  of  our  friendship  will  give  it  zest,"  said  I. 

"That  is  true,  but  'good  wine  needs  no  bush.'  You 
will  not  mention  my  name  to  the  ladies  ? " 


THE    IRON    AND    THE    SEED          23 

"  No,  if  you  wish  that  I  shall  not." 

"  I  do  so  wish." 

When  the  stable  boys  had  taken  our  horses,  I  gave  my 
hand  to  Sir  John,  after  which  we  entered  the  inn  and 
treated  each  other  as  strangers. 

Soon  after  I  had  washed  the  stains  of  travel  from  my 
hands  and  face,  I  sent  the  maid  to  my  cousins,  asking  that 
I  might  be  permitted  to  pay  my  devotions,  and  Dorothy 
came  to  the  tap-room  in  response  to  my  message. 

When  she  entered  she  ran  to  me  with  outstretched  hands 
and  a  gleam  of  welcome  in  her  eyes.  We  had  been  rare 
friends  when  she  was  a  child. 

"  Ah,  Cousin  Malcolm,  what  a  fine  surprise  you  have 
given  us !  "  she  exclaimed,  clasping  both  my  hands  and 
offering  me  her  cheek  to  kiss.  "  Father's  delight  will  be 
beyond  measure  when  he  sees  you." 

"  As  mine  now  is,"  I  responded,  gazing  at  her  from  head 
to  foot  and  drinking  in  her  beauty  with  my  eyes.  "  Doll ! 
Doll !  What  a  splendid  girl  you  have  become.  Who  would 
have  thought  that  —  that  —  "  I  hesitated,  realizing  that  I 
was  rapidly  getting  myself  into  trouble. 

"  Say  it.  Say  it,  cousin  !  I  know  what  is  in  your  mind. 
Rusty  red  hair,  angular  shoulders,  sharp  elbows,  freckles 
thickly  set  as  stars  upon  a  clear  night,  and  so  large  and 
brown  that  they  fairly  twinkled.  Great  staring  green  eyes. 
Awkward !  —  And  she  threw  up  her  hands  in  mimic 
horror  at  the  remembrance.  "  No  one  could  have  sup 
posed  that  such  a  girl  would  have  become  —  that  is,  you 
know,"  she  continued  confusedly,  "could  have  changed. 
I  haven't  a  freckle  now,"  and  she  lifted  her  face  that  I 
might  prove  the  truth  of  her  words  by  examination,  and 
perhaps  that  I  might  also  observe  her  beauty. 

Neither  did  I  waste  the  opportunity.  I  dwelt  longingly 
upon  the  wondrous  red  golden  hair  which  fringed  her  low 
broad  forehead,  and  upon  the  heavy  black  eyebrows,  the 


24  DOROTHY   VERNON 

pencilled  points  of  whose  curves  almost  touched  across 
the  nose.  I  saw  the  rose-tinted  ivory  of  her  skin  and 
the  long  jet  lashes  curving  in  a  great  sweep  from  her 
full  white  lids,  and  I  thought  full  sure  that  Venus  herself 
was  before  me.  My  gaze  halted  for  a  moment  at  the  long 
eyes  which  changed  chameleon-like  with  the  shifting  light, 
and  varied  with  her  moods  from  deep  fathomless  green  to 
violet,  and  from  violet  to  soft  voluptuous  brown,  but  in  all 
their  tints  beaming  forth  a  lustre  that  would  have  stirred 
the  soul  of  an  anchorite.  Then  I  noted  the  beauty  of  her 
clean-cut  saucy  nose  and  the  red  arch  of  her  lips,  slightly 
parted  for  the  purpose  of  showing  her  teeth.  But  I  could 
not  stop  long  to  dwell  upon  any  one  especial  feature,  for 
there  were  still  to  be  seen  her  divine  round  chin,  her  large 
white  throat,  and  the  infinite  grace  in  poise  and  curve  of 
her  strong  young  form.  I  dared  not  pause  nor  waste  my 
time  if  I  were  to  see  it  all,  for  such  a  girl  as  Dorothy  waits 
no  man's  leisure  —  that  is,  unless  she  wishes  to  wait.  In 
such  case  there  is  no  moving  her,  and  patience  becomes  to 
her  a  delightful  virtue. 

After  my  prolonged  scrutiny  Dorothy  lowered  her  face 
and  said  laughingly  :  — 

"  Now  come,  cousin,  tell  me  the  truth.  Who  would  have 
thought  it  possible  ?  " 

"  Not  I,  Doll,  not  I,  if  you  will  pardon  me  the  frank 
ness." 

"  Oh,  that  is  easily  done."  Then  with  a  merry  ripple  of 
laughter,  "  It  is  much  easier,  I  fancy,  for  a  woman  to  speak 
of  the  time  when  she  was  plain  than  to  refer  to  the  time 
when  —  when  she  was  beautiful.  What  an  absurd  speech 
that  is  for  me  to  make,"  she  said  confusedly. 

"  I  certainly  did  not  expect  to  find  so  great  a  change," 
said  I.  "Why,  Doll,  you  are  wondrous,  glorious,  beautiful. 
I  can't  find  words  — 

"Then  don't  try,  Cousin  Malcolm,"  she  said  with  a  smile 


THE    IRON    AND    THE    SEED          25 

that  fringed  her  mouth  in  dimples.  "  Don't  try.  You  will 
make  me  vain." 

"  You  are  that  already,  Doll,"  I  answered,  to  tease  her. 

"  I  fear  I  am,  cousin  —  vain  as  a  man.  But  don't  call 
me  Doll.  I  am  tall  enough  to  be  called  Dorothy." 

She  straightened  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  and  step 
ping  close  to  my  side,  said :  "  I  am  as  tall  as  you.  I  will 
now  try  to  make  you  vain.  You  look  just  as  young  and  as 
handsome  as  when  I  last  saw  you  and  so  ardently  admired 
your  waving  black  mustachio  and  your  curling  chin  beard." 

"  Did  you  admire  them,  Doll  —  Dorothy  ?  "  I  asked, 
hoping,  though  with  little  faith,  that  the  admiration  might 
still  continue. 

"  Oh,  prodigiously,"  she  answered  with  unassuring  can 
dor.  "  Prodigiously.  Now  who  is  vain,  Cousin  Malcolm 
Francois  de  Lorraine  Vernon  ?  " 

"  I,"  I  responded, -shrugging  my  shoulders  and  confessing 
by  compulsion. 

"  But  you  must  remember,"  she  continued  provokingly, 
"that  a  girl  of  twelve  is  very  immature  in  her  judgment 
and  will  fall  in  love  with  any  man  who  allows  her  to  look 
upon  him  twice." 

"  Then  I  am  to  believe  that  the  fire  begins  very  early 
to  burn  in  the  feminine  heart,"  I  responded. 

"With  birth,  my  cousin,  with  birth,"  she  replied;  "but 
in  my  heart  it  burned  itself  out  upon  your  curling  beard  at 
the  mature  age  of  twelve." 

"  And  you  have  never  been  in  love  since  that  time,  Doll 
—  Dorothy?"  I  asked  with  more  earnestness  in  my  heart 
than  in  my  voice. 

"  No,  no  ;  by  the  Virgin,  no  !  Not  even  in  the  shadow 
of  a  thought.  And  by  the  help  of  the  Virgin  I  hope  I 
never  shall  be ;  for  when  it  comes  to  me,  mark  my  word, 
cousin,  there  will  be  trouble  in  Derbyshire." 

"  By  my  soul,  I  believe  you  speak  the  truth,"  I  answered, 


26  DOROTHY    VERNON 

little  dreaming  how  quickly  our  joint  prophecy  would  come 
true. 

I  then  asked  Dorothy  to  tell  me  about  her  father. 

"  Father  is  well  in  health,"  she  said.  "  In  mind  he  has 
been  much  troubled  and  disturbed.  Last  month  he  lost 
the  lawsuit  against  detestable  old  Lord  Rutland.  He  was 
much  angered  by  the  loss,  and  has  been  moody  and  morose 
in  brooding  over  it  ever  since.  He  tries,  poor  father,  to 
find  relief  from  his  troubles,  and  —  and  I  fear  takes  too 
much  liquor.  Rutland  and  his  friends  swore  to  one  lie 
upon  another,  and  father  believes  that  the  judge  who  tried 
the  case  was  bribed.  Father  intends  to  appeal  to  Parlia 
ment,  but  even  in  Parliament  he  fears  he  cannot  obtain 
justice.  Lord  Rutland's  son  —  a  disreputable  fellow,  who 
for  many  years  has  lived  at  court  —  is  a  favorite  with  the 
queen,  and  his  acquaintance  with  her  Majesty  and  with  the 
lords  will  be  to  father's  prejudice." 

"  I  have  always  believed  that  your  father  stood  in  the 
queen's  good  graces  ?"  I  said  interrogatively. 

"  So  he  does,  but  I  have  been  told  that  this  son  of  Lord 
Rutland,  whom  I  have  never  seen,  has  the  beauty  of  —  of 
the  devil,  and  exercises  a  great  influence  over  her  Majesty 
and  her  friends.  The  young  man  is  not  known  in  this 
neighborhood,  for  he  has  never  deigned  to  leave  the  court ; 
but  Lady  Cavendish  tells  me  he  has  all  the  fascinations 
of  Satan.  I  would  that  Satan  had  him." 

"  The  feud  still  lives  between  Vernon  and  Rutland  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Yes,  and  it  will  continue  to  live  so  long  as  an  ounce  of 
blood  can  hold  a  pound  of  hatred,"  said  the  girl,  with  flash 
ing  eyes  and  hard  lips.  "  I  love  to  hate  the  accursed  race. 
They  have  wronged  our  house  for  three  generations,  and 
my  father  has  suffered  greater  injury  at  their  hands  than 
any  of  our  name.  Let  us  not  talk  of  the  hateful  subject." 

We  changed  the  topic.     I  had  expected  Dorothy  to  in- 


THE    IRON    AND    THE    SEED          27 

vite  me  to  go  with  her  to  meet  Lady  Crawford,  but  the 
girl  seemed  disinclined  to  leave  the  tap-room.  The  Pea 
cock  was  her  father's  property,  and  the  host  and  hostess 
were  her  friends  after  the  manner  of  persons  in  their 
degree.  Therefore  Dorothy  felt  at  liberty  to  visit  the  tap 
room  quite  as  freely  as  if  it  had  been  the  kitchen  of  Had- 
don  Hall. 

During  our  conversation  I  had  frequently  noticed  Doro 
thy  glancing  slyly  in  the  direction  of  the  fireplace ;  but  my 
back  was  turned  that  way,  and  I  did  not  know,  nor  did  it 
at  first  occur  to  me  to  wonder  what  attracted  her  attention. 
Soon  she  began  to  lose  the  thread  of  our  conversation,  and 
made  inappropriate,  tardy  replies  to  my  remarks.  The 
glances  toward  the  fireplace  increased  in  number  and  dura 
tion,  and  her  efforts  to  pay  attention  to  what  I  was  saying 
became  painful  failures. 

After  a  little  time  she  said  :  "  Is  it  not  cool  here  ?  Let 
us  go  over  to  the  fireplace  where  it  is  warmer." 

I  turned  to  go  with  her,  and  at  once  saw  that  it  was 
not  the  fire  in  the  fireplace  which  had  attracted  Dorothy, 
but  quite  a  different  sort  of  flame.  In  short,  much  to  my 
consternation,  I  discovered  that  it  was  nothing  less  than 
my  handsome  new-found  friend,  Sir  John  Manners,  toward 
whom  Dorothy  had  been  glancing. 

We  walked  over  to  the  fireplace,  and  one  of  the  fires, 
Sir  John,  moved  away.  But  the  girl  turned  her  face  that 
she  might  see  him  in  his  new  position.  The  movement,  I 
confess,  looked  bold  to  the  point  of  brazenness ;  but  if  the 
movement  was  bold,  what  shall  I  say  of  her  glances  and 
the  expression  of  her  face  ?  She  seemed  unable  to  take 
her  eager  eyes  from  the  stranger,  or  to  think  of  anything 
but  him,  and  after  a  few  moments  she  did  not  try.  Soon 
she  stopped  talking  entirely  and  did  not  even  hear  what  I 
was  saying.  I,  too,  became  silent,  and  after  a  long  pause 
the  girl  asked  :  — 


28  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Cousin,  who  is  the  gentleman  with  whom  you  were 
travelling  ?  " 

I  was  piqued  by  Dorothy's  conduct,  and  answered  rather 
curtly  :  "  He  is  a  stranger.  I  picked  him  up  at  Derby,  and 
we  rode  here  together." 

A  pause  followed,  awkward  in  its  duration. 

"Did  you  —  not  —  learn  —  his  —  name?"  asked  Doro 
thy,  hesitatingly. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied. 

Then  came  another  pause,  broken  by  the  girl,  who  spoke 
in  a  quick,  imperious  tone  touched  with  irritation  :  — 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  better  that  I  do  not  tell  you,"  I  answered. 
"  It  was  quite  by  accident  that  we  met.  Neither  of  us 
knew  the  other.  Please  do  not  ask  me  to  tell  you  his 
name." 

"  Oh,  but  you  make  me  all  the  more  eager  to  learn. 
Mystery,  you  know,  is  intolerable  to  a  woman,  except  in 
the  unravelling.  Come,  tell  me  !  Tell  me  !  Not,  of  course, 
that  I  really  care  a  farthing  to  know  —  but  the  mystery ! 
A  mystery  drives  me  wild.  Tell  me,  please  do,  Cousin 
Malcolm." 

She  certainly  was  posing  for  the  stranger's  benefit,  and 
was  doing  all  in  her  power,  while  coaxing  me,  to  display 
her  charms,  graces,  and  pretty  little  ways.  Her  attitude 
and  conduct  spoke  as  plainly  as  the  spring  bird's  song 
speaks  to  its  mate.  Yet  Dorothy's  manner  did  not  seem 
bold.  Even  to  me  it  appeared  modest,  beautiful,  and 
necessary.  She  seemed  to  act  under  compulsion.  She 
would  laugh,  for  the  purpose,  no  doubt,  of  showing  her 
dimples  and  her  teeth,  and  would  lean  her  head  to  one 
side  pigeon-wise  to  display  her  eyes  to  the  best  advantage, 
and  then  would  she  shyly  glance  toward  Sir  John  to  see 
if  he  was  watching  her.  It  was  shameless,  but  it  could 
not  be  helped  by  Dorothy  nor  any  one  else.  After  a  few 


THE    IRON    AND    THE    SEED 


29 


moments  of  mute  pleading  by  the  girl,  broken  now  and 
then  by,  "  Please,  please,"  I  said  :  — 

"  If  you  give  to  me  your  promise  that  you  will  never 
speak  of  this  matter  to  any  person,  I  will  tell  you  the 
gentleman's  name.  I  would  not  for  a  great  deal  have 
your  father  know  that  I  have  held  conversation  with  him 
even  for  a  moment,  though  at  the  time  I  did  not  know 
whom  he  was." 

"  Oh,    this   is   delightful !     He  must   be    some  famous, 
dashing  highwayman.     I  promise,  of  course  I  promise  — 
faithfully."     She  was  glancing  constantly  toward  Manners, 
and  her  face  was  bright  with  smiles  and  eager  with  antici 
pation. 

"  He  is  worse  than  a  highwayman,  I  regret  to  say. 
The  gentleman  toward  whom  you  are  so  ardently  glancing 
is  —  Sir  John  Manners." 

A  shock  of  pain  passed  over  Dorothy's  face,  followed 
by  a  hard,  repellent  expression  that  was  almost  ugly. 

"  Let  us  go  to  Aunt  Dorothy,"  she  said,  as  she  turned 
and  walked  across  the  room  toward  the  door. 

When  we  had  closed  the  door  of  the  tap-room  behind  us 
Dorothy  said  angrily  :  — 

"  Tell  me,  cousin,  how  you,  a  Vernon,  came  to  be  in  his 
company  ? " 

"  I  told  you  that  I  met  him  quite  by  accident  at  the 
Royal  Arms  in  Derby-town.  We  became  friends  before 
either  knew  the  other's  name.  After  chance  had  disclosed 
our  identities,  he  asked  for  a  truce  to  our  feud  until  the 
morrow  ;  and  he  was  so  gentle  and  open  in  his  conduct  that 
I  could  not  and  would  not  refuse  his  proffered  olive 
branch.  In  truth,  whatever  faults  may  be  attributable  to 
Lord  Rutland,  —  and  I  am  sure  he  deserves  all  the  evil 
you  have  spoken  of  him,  —  his  son,  Sir  John,  is  a  noble 
gentleman,  else  I  have  been  reading  the  book  of  human 
nature  all  my  life  in  vain.  Perhaps  he  is  in  no  way  to 


30  DOROTHY    VERNON 

blame  for  his  father's  conduct.  He  may  have  had  no 
part  in  it." 

"Perhaps  he  has  not,"  said  Dorothy,  musingly. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  task  for  me  to  praise  Sir  John,  but 
my  sense  of  justice  impelled  me  to  do  so.  I  tried  to  make 
myself  feel  injured  and  chagrined  because  of  Dorothy's 
manner  toward  him ;  for  you  must  remember  I  had 
arranged  with  myself  to  marry  this  girl,  but  I  could  not 
work  my  feelings  into  a  state  of  indignation  against  the 
heir  to  Rutland.  The  truth  is,  my  hope  of  winning  Doro 
thy  had  evaporated  upon  the  first  sight  of  her,  like  the 
volatile  essence  it  really  was.  I  cannot  tell  you  why,  but 
I  at  once  seemed  to  realize  that  all  the  thought  and  labor 
which  I  had  devoted  to  the  arduous  task  of  arranging  with 
myself  this  marriage  was  labor  lost.  So  I  frankly  told  her 
my  kindly  feelings  for  Sir  John,  and  gave  her  my  high 
estimate  of  his  character. 

I  continued :  "  You  see,  Dorothy,  I  could  not  so  easily 
explain  to  your  father  my  association  with  Sir  John,  and  I 
hope  you  will  not  speak  of  it  to  any  one,  lest  the  news 
should  reach  Sir  George's  ears." 

"I  will  not  speak  of  it,"  she  returned,  sighing  faintly. 
"  After  all,  it  is  not  his  fault  that  his  father  is  such  a  vil 
lain.  He  doesn't  look  like  his  father,  does  he  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say.  I  never  saw  Lord  Rutland,"  I  re 
plied. 

"He  is  the  most  villanous-looking — "  but  she  broke 
off  the  sentence  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  revery.  We 
were  in  the  darkened  passage,  and  Dorothy  had  taken  my 
hand.  That  little  act  in  another  woman  of  course  would 
have  led  to  a  demonstration  on  my  part,  but  in  this  girl  it 
seemed  so  entirely  natural  and  candid  that  it  was  a  com 
plete  bar  to  undue  familiarity.  In  truth,  I  had  no  such 
tendency,  for  the  childish  act  spoke  of  an  innocence  and 
faith  that  were  very  sweet  to  me  who  all  my  life  had  lived 


THE    IRON    AND    THE    SEED          31 

among  men  and  women  who  laughed  at  those  simple 
virtues.  The  simple  conditions  of  life  are  all  that  are 
worth  striving  for.  They  come  to  us  fresh  from  Nature 
and  from  Nature's  God.  The  complex  are  but  concoc 
tions  of  man  after  recipes  in  the  devil's  alchemy.  So 
much  gold,  so  much  ambition,  so  much  lust.  Mix  well. 
Product :  so  much  vexation. 

"  He  must  resemble  his  mother,"  said  Dorothy,  after  a 
long  pause.  "  Poor  fellow  !  His  mother  is  dead.  He  is 
like  me  in  that  respect.  I  wonder  if  his  father's  villanies 
trouble  him  ?  " 

"  I  think  they  must  trouble  him.  He  seems  to  be  sad," 
said  I,  intending  to  be  ironical. 

My  reply  was  taken  seriously. 

"I  am  sorry  for  him,"  she  said,  "  it  is  not  right  to  hate 
even  our  enemies.  The  Book  tells  us  that." 

"  Yet  you  hate  Lord  Rutland,"  said  I,  amused  and 
provoked. 

Unexpected  and  dangerous  symptoms  were  rapidly  de 
veloping  in  the  perverse  girl,  and  trouble  was  brewing  "  in 
Derbyshire." 

The  adjective  perverse,  by  the  way,  usually  is  superflu 
ous  when  used  to  modify  the  noun  girl. 

"  Yet  you  hate  Lord  Rutland,"  I  repeated. 

"  Why,  y-e-s,"  she  responded.  "  I  cannot  help  that,  but 
you  know  it  would  be  very  wrong  to  —  to  hate  all  his  family. 
To  hate  him  is  bad  enough." 

I  soon  began  to  fear  that  I  had  praised  Sir  John  over 
much. 

"  I  think  Sir  John  is  all  there  is  of  Lord  Rutland's 
family,"  I  said,  alarmed  yet  amused  at  Dorothy's  search 
for  an  excuse  not  to  hate  my  new-found  friend. 

"  Well,"  she  continued  after  a  pause,  throwing  her  head 
to  one  side,  "  I  am  sorry  there  are  no  more  of  that 
family  not  to  hate." 


32  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"Dorothy  !  Dorothy!  "  I  exclaimed.  "What  has  come 
over  you  ?  You  surprise  me." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  with  a  little  sigh,  "  I  certainly 
have  surprised  myself  by  —  by  my  willingness  to  forgive 
those  who  have  injured  my  house.  I  did  not  know  there 
was  so  much  —  so  much  good  in  me." 

"  Mistress  Pharisee,"  thought  I,  "  you  are  a  hypo 
crite." 

Again  intending  to  be  ironical,  I  said,  "  Shall  I  fetch 
him  from  the  tap-room  and  present  him  to  you  ?  " 

Once  more  my  irony  was  lost  upon  the  girl.  Evidently 
that  sort  of  humor  was  not  my  strong  point. 

"  No,  no,"  she  responded  indignantly,  "  I  would  not 
speak  to  him  for — "  Again  she  broke  her  sentence 
abruptly,  and  after  a  little  pause,  short  in  itself  but  amply 
long  for  a  girl  like  Dorothy  to  change  her  mind  two  score 
times,  she  continued  :  "  It  would  not  be  for  the  best. 
What  think  you,  Cousin  Malcolm  ? " 

"  Surely  the  girl  has  gone  mad,"  thought  I.  Her  voice 
was  soft  and  conciliating  as  if  to  say,  "  I  trust  entirely  to 
your  mature,  superior  judgment." 

My  judgment  coincided  emphatically  with  her  words, 
and  I  said  :  "  I  spoke  only  in  jest.  It  certainly  would  not 
be  right.  It  would  be  all  wrong  if  you  were  to  meet  him." 

"That  is  true,"  the  girl  responded  with  firmness,  "  but  — 
but  no  real  harm  could  come  of  it,"  she  continued,  laughing 
nervously.  "  He  could  not  strike  me  nor  bite  me.  Of 
course  it  would  be  unpleasant  for  me  to  meet  him,  and 
as  there  is  no  need  —  I  am  curious  to  know  what  one  of 
his  race  is  like.  It's  the  only  reason  that  would  induce  me 
to  consent.  Of  course  you  know  there  could  be  no  other 
reason  for  me  to  wish  —  that  is,  you  know — to  be  willing  to 
meet  him.  Of  course  you  know." 

"  Certainly,"  I  replied,  still  clinging  to  my  unsuccessful 
irony.  "  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know  about  him,  so  that  you 


THE    IRON    AND    THE    SEED          33 

may  understand  what  he  is  like.  As  for  his  personal 
appearance,  you  saw  him,  did  you  not  ? " 

I  thought  surely  that  piece  of  irony  would  not  fail,  but 
it  did,  and  I  have  seldom  since  attempted  to  use  that  form 
of  humor. 

"Yes  —  oh,  yes,  I  saw  him  for  a  moment." 

"  But  I  will  not  present  him  to  you,  Dorothy,  however 
much  you  may  wish  to  meet  him,"  I  said  positively. 

"  It  is  almost  an  insult,  Cousin  Malcolm,  for  you  to  say 
that  I  wish  to  meet  him,"  she  answered  in  well-feigned 
indignation. 

The  French  blood  in  my  veins  moved  me  to  shrug  my 
shoulders.  I  could  do  nothing  else.  With  all  my  knowl 
edge  of  womankind  this  girl  had  sent  me  to  sea. 

But  what  shall  we  say  of  Dorothy's  conduct  ?  I  fancy 
I  can  hear  you  mutter,  "  This  Dorothy  Vernon  must 
have  been  a  bold,  immodest,  brazen  girl."  Nothing  of 
the  sort.  Dare  you  of  the  cold  blood  —  if  perchance 
there  be  any  with  that  curse  in  their  veins  who  read 
these  lines  —  dare  you,  I  say,  lift  your  voice  against  the 
blessed  heat  in  others  which  is  but  a  greater,  stronger, 
warmer  spark  of  God's  own  soul  than  you  possess  or  than 
you  can  comprehend  ?  "  Evil  often  comes  of  it,"  I  hear 
you  say.  That  I  freely  admit ;  and  evil  comes  from  eating 
too  much  bread,  and  from  hearing  too  much  preaching. 
But  the  universe,  from  the  humblest  blade  of  grass  to  the 
infinite  essence  of  God,  exists  because  of  that  warmth 
which  the  mawkish  world  contemns.  Is  the  iron  immod 
est  when  it  creeps  to  the  lodestone  and  clings  to  its  side  ? 
Is  the  hen  bird  brazen  when  she  flutters  to  her  mate 
responsive  to  his  compelling  woo-song  ?  Is  the  seed 
immodest  when  it  sinks  into  the  ground  and  swells  with 
budding  life  ?  Is  the  cloud  bold  when  it  softens  into  rain 
and  falls  to  earth  because  it  has  no  other  choice  ?  or  is  it 
brazen  when  it  nestles  for  a  time  on  the  bosom  of  heaven's 


34  DOROTHY    VERNON 

arched  dome  and  sinking  into  the  fathomless  depths  of  a 
blue  black  infinity  ceases  to  be  itself  ?  Is  the  human 
soul  immodest  when,  drawn  by  a  force  it  cannot  resist,  it 
seeks  a  stronger  soul  which  absorbs  its  ego  as  the  blue  sky 
absorbs  the  floating  cloud,  as  the  warm  earth  swells  the 
seed,  as  the  magnet  draws  the  iron  ?  All  these  are 
of  one  quality.  The  iron,  the  seed,  the  cloud,  and  the 
soul  of  man  are  what  they  are,  do  what  they  do,  love  as 
they  love,  live  as  they  live,  and  die  as  they  die  because 
they  must  —  because  they  have  no  other  choice.  We 
think  we  are  free  because  at  times  we  act  as  we  please, 
forgetting  that  God  gives  us  the  "  please,"  and  that  every 
act  of  our  being  is  but  the  result  of  a  dictated  motive. 
Dorothy  was  not  immodest.  This  was  her  case.  She  was 
the  iron,  the  seed,  the  cloud,  and  the  rain.  You,  too,  are 
the  iron,  the  seed,  the  cloud,  and  the  rain.  It  is  only 
human  vanity  which  prompts  you  to  believe  that  you  are 
yourself  and  that  you  are  free.  Do  you  find  any  freedom 
in  this  world  save  that  which  you  fondly  believe  to  exist 
within  yourself  ?  Self !  There  is  but  one  self,  God.  I 
have  been  told  that  the  people  of  the  East  call  Him 
Brahma.  The  word,  it  is  said,  means  "  Breath,"  "  In 
spiration,"  "  All."  I  have  felt  that  the  beautiful  pagan 
thought  has  truth  in  it ;  but  my  conscience  and  my  priest 
tell  me  rather  to  cling  to  truths  I  have  than  to  fly  to  others 
that  I  know  not  of.  As  a  result,  I  shall  probably  die  ortho 
dox  and  mistaken. 


CHAPTER   III 
THE  PITCHER  GOES  TO  THE  WELL 

DOROTHY  and  I  went  to  the  inn  parlors,  where  I 
received  a  cordial  welcome  from  my  cousin,  Lady 
Crawford.  After  our  greeting,  Dorothy  came 
toward  me  leading  the  fair,  pale  girl  whom  I  had  seen  in 
the  courtyard. 

"  Madge,  this  is  my  cousin,  Malcolm  Vernon,"  said 
Dorothy.  "  He  was  a  dear  friend  of  my  childhood  and  is 
much  beloved  by  my  father.  Lady  Magdalene  Stanley, 
cousin,"  and  she  placed  the  girl's  soft  white  hand  in  mine. 
There  was  a  peculiar  hesitancy  in  the  girl's  manner  which 
puzzled  me.  She  did  not  look  at  me  when  Dorothy  placed 
her  hand  in  mine,  but  kept  her  eyes  cast  down,  the  long, 
black  lashes  resting  upon  the  fair  curves  of  her  cheek  like 
a  shadow  on  the  snow.  She  murmured  a  salutation,  and 
when  I  made  a  remark  that  called  for  a  response,  she  lifted 
her  eyes  but  seemed  not  to  look  at  me.  Unconsciously  I 
turned  my  face  toward  Dorothy,  who  closed  her  eyes  and 
formed  with  her  lips  the  word  "  blind." 

I  retained  the  girl's  hand,  and  she  did  not  withdraw  it. 
When  I  caught  Dorothy's  unspoken  word  I  led  Lady 
Madge  to  a  chair  and  asked  if  I  might  sit  beside  her. 

"Certainly,"  she  answered  smilingly;  "you  know  I 
am  blind,  but  I  can  hear  and  speak,  and  I  enjoy  having 
persons  I  like  sit  near  me  that  I  may  touch  them  now  and 
then  while  we  talk.  If  I  could  only  see  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

35 


36  DOROTHY    VERNON 

Still,  there  was  no  tone  of  complaint  in  her  voice  and  very 
little  even  of  regret.  The  girl's  eyes  were  of  a  deep  blue 
and  were  entirely  without  scar  or  other  evidence  of  blind 
ness,  except  that  they  did  not  seem  to  see.  I  afterward 
learned  that  her  affliction  had  come  upon  her  as  the  result 
of  illness  when  she  was  a  child.  She  was  niece  to  the 
Earl  of  Derby,  and  Dorothy's  mother  had  been  her  aunt. 
She  owned  a  small  estate  and  had  lived  at  Haddon 
Hall  five  or  six  years  because  of  the  love  that  existed 
between  her  and  Dorothy.  A  strong  man  instinctively 
longs  to  cherish  that  which  needs  his  strength,  and 
perhaps  it  was  the  girl's  helplessness  that  first  appealed 
to  me.  Perhaps  it  was  her  rare,  peculiar  beauty,  speak 
ing  eloquently  of  virtue  such  as  I  had  never  known,  that 
touched  me.  I  cannot  say  what  the  impelling  cause  was, 
but  this  I  know :  my  heart  went  out  in  pity  to  her,  and 
all  that  was  good  within  me  —  good,  which  I  had  never 
before  suspected  —  stirred  in  my  soul,  and  my  past  life 
seemed  black  and  barren  beyond  endurance.  Even 
Dorothy's  marvellous  beauty  lacked  the  subtle  quality 
which  this  simple  blind  girl  possessed.  The  first  step  in 
regeneration  is  to  see  one's  faults ;  the  second  is  to  regret 
them  ;  the  third  is  to  quit  them.  The  first  and  second  steps 
constitute  repentance ;  the  second  and  third  regeneration. 
One  hour  within  the  radius  of  Madge  Stanley's  influence 
brought  me  to  repentance.  But  repentance  is  an  everyday 
virtue.  Should  I  ever  achieve  regeneration  ?  That  is  one 
of  the  questions  this  history  will  answer.  To  me,  Madge 
Stanley's  passive  force  was  the  strongest  influence  for  good 
that  had  ever  impinged  on  my  life.  With  respect  to  her, 
morally,  I  was  the  iron,  the  seed,  the  cloud,  and  the  rain, 
for  she,  acting  unconsciously,  moved  me  with  neither 
knowledge  nor  volition  on  my  part. 

Soon  after  my  arrival  at  the  ladies'  parlor   dinner  was 
served,  and  after  dinner  a  Persian  merchant  was  ushered 


THE   PITCHER    GOES   TO    THE   WELL     37 

in,  closely  followed  by  his  servants  bearing  bales  of  rare 
Eastern  fabrics.  A  visit  and  a  dinner  at  the  inn  were  little 
events  that  made  a  break  in  the  monotony  of  life  at  the 
Hall,  and  the  ladies  preferred  to  visit  the  merchant,  who 
was  stopping  at  The  Peacock  for  a  time,  rather  than  to  have 
him  take  his  wares  to  Haddon. 

While  Lady  Crawford  and  Dorothy  were  revelling  in 
Persian  silks,  satins,  and  gold  cloths,  I  sat  by  Lady  Madge 
and  was  more  than  content  that  we  were  left  to  ourselves. 
My  mind,  however,  was  as  far  from  thoughts  of  gallantry 
as  if  she  had  been  a  black-veiled  nun.  I  believe  I  have 
not  told  you  that  I  was  of  the  Holy  Catholic  Faith.  My 
religion,  I  may  say,  has  always  been  more  nominal  and 
political  than  spiritual,  although  there  ran  through  it  a 
strong  vein  of  inherited  tendencies  and  superstitions  which 
were  highly  colored  by  contempt  for  heresy  and  heretics. 
I  was  Catholic  by  habit.  But  if  I  analyzed  my  supposed 
religious  belief,  I  found  that  I  had  none  save  a  hatred  for 
heresy.  Heretics,  as  a  rule,  were  low-born  persons,  vulgarly 
moral,  and  as  I  had  always  thought,  despisedly  hypocritical. 
Madge  Stanley,  however,  was  a  Protestant,  and  that  fact 
shook  the  structure  of  my  old  mistakes  to  its  foundation, 
and  left  me  religionless. 

After  the  Persian  merchant  had  packed  his  bales  and 
departed,  Dorothy  and  Lady  Crawford  joined  Madge  and 
me  near  the  fireplace.  Soon  Dorothy  went  over  to  the 
window  and  stood  there  gazing  into  the  courtyard. 

After  a  few  minutes  Lady  Crawford  said,  "  Dorothy, 
had  we  not  better  order  Dawson  to  bring  out  the  horses 
and  coach  ? "  Will  Dawson  was  Sir  George's  forester. 

Lady  Crawford  repeated  her  question,  but  Dorothy  was 
too  intently  watching  the  scene  in  the  courtyard  to  hear. 
I  went  over  to  her,  and  looking  out  at  the  window  discov 
ered  the  object  of  Dorothy's  rapt  attention.  There  is  no 
need  for  me  to  tell  you  who  it  was.  Irony,  as  you  know, 


38  DOROTHY    VERNON 

and  as  I  had  learned,  was  harmless  against  this  thick- 
skinned  nymph.  Of  course  I  had  no  authority  to  scold 
her,  so  I  laughed.  The  object  of  Dorothy's  attention  was 
about  to  mount  his  horse.  He  was  drawing  on  his  gaunt- 
leted  gloves  and  held  between  his  teeth  a  cigarro.  He 
certainly  presented  a  handsome  figure  for  the  eyes  of  an 
ardent  girl  to  rest  upon  while  he  stood  beneath  the  window, 
clothed  in  a  fashionable  Paris-made  suit  of  brown,  doublet, 
trunks,  and  hose.  His  high-topped  boots  were  polished  till 
they  shone,  and  his  broad-rimmed  hat,  of  soft  beaver,  was 
surmounted  by  a  flowing  plume.  Even  I,  who  had  no  es 
pecial  taste  nor  love  for  masculine  beauty,  felt  my  sense  of 
the  beautiful  strongly  moved  by  the  attractive  picture  my 
new-found  friend  presented.  His  dress,  manner,  and  bear 
ing,  polished  by  the  friction  of  life  at  a  luxurious  court,  must 
have  appeared  god-like  to  Dorothy.  She  had  never  travelled 
farther  from  home  than  Buxton  and  Derby-town,  and  had 
met  only  the  half-rustic  men  belonging  to  the  surrounding 
gentry  and  nobility  of  Derbyshire,  Nottingham,  and  Staf 
ford.  She  had  met  but  few  even  of  them,  and  their  lives 
had  been  spent  chiefly  in  drinking,  hunting,  and  gambling 
—  accomplishments  that  do  not  fine  down  the  texture  of  a 
man's  nature  or  fit  him  for  a  lady's  bower.  Sir  John  Man 
ners  was  a  revelation  to  Dorothy ;  and  she,  poor  girl,  was 
bewildered  and  bewitched  by  him. 

When  John  had  mounted  and  was  moving  away,,  he 
looked  up  to  the  window  where  Dorothy  stood,  and  a  light 
came  to  her  eyes  and  a  smile  to  her  face  which  no  man 
who  knows  the  sum  of  two  and  two  can  ever  mistake  if  he 
but  once  sees  it. 

When  I  saw  the  light  in  Dorothy's  eyes,  I  knew  that  all 
the  hatred  that  was  ever  born  from  all  the  feuds  that  had 
ever  lived  since  the  quarrelling  race  of  man  began  its  feuds 
in  Eden  could  not  make  Dorothy  Vernon  hate  the  son  of 
her  father's  enemy. 


THE    PITCHER   GOES   TO    THE   WELL     39 

"  I  was  —  was  —  watching  him  draw  smoke  through  the 
—  the  little  stick  which  he  holds  in  his  mouth,  and  —  and 
blow  it  out  again,"  said  Dorothy,  in  explanation  of  her  atti 
tude.  She  blushed  painfully  and  continued,  "  I  hope  you 
do  not  think—" 

"  I  do  not  think,"  I  answered.  "  I  would  not  think  of 
thinking." 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  responded,  with  a  forced  smile, 
as  she  watched  Sir  John  pass  out  of  sight  under  the  arch 
of  the  innyard  gate.  I  did  not  think.  I  knew.  And  the 
sequel,  so  full  of  trouble,  soon  proved  that  I  was  right. 

After  John  had  passed  through  the  gate,  Dorothy  was 
willing  to  go  home ;  and  when  Will  Dawson  brought  the 
great  coach  to  the  inn  door,  I  mounted  my  horse  and  rode 
beside  the  ladies  to  Haddon  Hall,  two  miles  north  from 
Rowsley. 

I  shall  not  stop  to  tell  you  of  the  warm  welcome  given 
me  by  Sir  George  Vernon,  nor  of  his  delight  when  I  briefly 
told  him  my  misfortunes  in  Scotland  —  misfortunes  that 
had  brought  me  to  Haddon  Hall.  Nor  shall  I  describe 
the  great  boar's  head  supper  given  in  my  honor,  at  which 
there  were  twenty  men  who  could  have  put  me  under  the 
table.  I  thought  I  knew  something  of  the  art  of  drinking, 
but  at  that  supper  I  soon  found  I  was  a  mere  tippler  com 
pared  with  these  country  guzzlers.  At  that  feast  I  learned 
also  that  Dorothy,* when  she  had  hinted  concerning  Sir 
George's  excessive  drinking,  had  told 'the  truth.  He,  being 
the  host,  drank  with  all  his  guests.  Near  midnight  he 
grew  distressingly  drunk,  talkative,  and  violent,  and  when 
toward  morning  he  was  carried  from  the  room  by  his  ser 
vants,  the  company  broke  up.  Those  who  could  do  so  reeled 
home ;  those  who  could  not  walk  at  all  were  put  to  bed  by 
the  retainers  at  Haddon  Hall.  I  had  chosen  my  bedroom 
high  up  in  Eagle  Tower.  At  table  I  had  tried  to  remain 
sober.  That,  however,  was  an  impossible  task,  for  at  the 


40  DOROTHY    VERNON 

upper  end  of  the  hall  there  was  a  wrist-ring  placed  in  the 
wainscoting  at  a  height  of  ten  or  twelve  inches  above  the 
head  of  an  ordinary  man,  and  if  one  refused  to  drink  as 
much  as  the  other  guests  thought  he  should,  his  wrist  was 
fastened  above  his  head  in  the  ring,  and  the  liquor  which 
he  should  have  poured  down  his  throat  was  poured  down 
his  sleeve.  Therefore  to  avoid  this  species  of  rustic  sport 
I  drank  much  more  than  was  good  for  me.  When  the 
feast  closed  I  thought  I  was  sober  enough  to  go  to  my 
room  unassisted  ;  so  I  took  a  candle,  and  with  a  great  show 
of  self-confidence  climbed  the  spiral  stone  stairway  to  the 
door  of  my  room.  The  threshold  of  my  door  was  two  or 
three  feet  above  the  steps  of  the  stairway,  and  after  I  had 
contemplated  the  distance  for  a  few  minutes,  I  concluded 
that  it  would  not  be  safe  for  me  to  attempt  to  climb  into 
my  sleeping  apartments  without  help.  Accordingly  I  sat 
down  upon  the  step  on  which  I  had  been  standing,  placed 
my  candle  beside  me,  called  loudly  for  a  servant,  received  no 
response,  and  fell  asleep  only  to  be  awakened  by  one  of  Sir 
George's  retainers  coming  downstairs  next  morning. 

After  that  supper,  in  rapid  succession,  followed  hunting 
and  drinking,  feasting  and  dancing  in  my  honor.  At  the 
dances  the  pipers  furnished  the  music,  or,  I  should  rather 
say,  the  noise.  Their  miserable  waitings  reminded  me  of 
Scotland.  After  all,  thought  I,  is  the  insidious,  polished 
vice  of  France  worse  than  the  hoggish,  uncouth  practices 
of  Scotland  and  of  English  country  life  ?  I  could  not  en 
dure  the  latter,  so  I  asked  Sir  George,  on  the  pretext  of 
ill  health,  to  allow  me  to  refuse  invitations  to  other  houses, 
and  I  insisted  that  he  should  give  no  more  entertain 
ments  at  Haddon  Hall  on  my  account.  Sir  George  eagerly 
acquiesced  in  all  my  wishes.  In  truth,  I  was  treated  like 
an  honored  guest  and  a  member  of  the  family,  and  I  con 
gratulated  myself  that  my  life  had  fallen  in  such  pleasant 
lines.  Dorothy  and  Madge  became  my  constant  com- 


THE   PITCHER    GOES   TO    THE   WELL     41 

panions,  for  Sir  George's  time  was  occupied  chiefly  with 
his  estates  and  with  his  duties  as  magistrate.  A  feeling 
of  rest  and  contentment  came  over  me,  and  my  past  life 
drifted  back  of  me  like  an  ever  receding  cloud. 

Thus  passed  the  months  of  October  and  November. 

In  the  meantime  events  in  Scotland  and  in  England 
proved  my  wisdom  in  seeking  a  home  at  Haddon  Hall, 
and  showed  me  how  great  was  my  good  fortune  in 
finding  it. 

Queen  Mary  was  a  prisoner  at  Lochleven  Castle,  and 
her  brother  Murray  had  beheaded  many  of  her  friends. 
Elizabeth,  hating  Mary  as  only  a  plain,  envious  woman  can 
hate  one  who  is  transcendently  beautiful,  had,  upon  differ 
ent  pretexts,  seized  many  of  Mary's  friends  who  had  fled 
to  England  for  sanctuary,  and  some  of  them  had  suffered 
imprisonment  or  death. 

Elizabeth,  in  many  instances,  had  good  cause  for  her 
attitude  toward  Mary's  friends,  since  plots  were  hatching 
thick  and  fast  to  liberate  Mary  from  Lochleven;  and  many 
such  plots,  undoubtedly,  had  for  their  chief  end  the  deposi 
tion  of  Elizabeth,  and  the  enthronement  of  Mary  as  Queen 
of  England. 

As  a  strict  matter  of  law,  Mary  was  rightful  heir  to  the 
English  throne,  and  Elizabeth  was  an  usurper.  Parlia 
ment,  at  Henry's  request,  had  declared  that  Elizabeth,  his 
issue  by  Anne  Boleyn,  was  illegitimate,  and  that  being 
true,  Mary  was  next  in  line  of  descent.  The  Catholics  of 
England  took  that  stand,  and  Mary's  beauty  and  powers 
of  fascination  had  won  for  her  friends  even  in  the  per 
sonal  household  of  the  Virgin  Queen.  Small  cause  for 
wonder  was  it  that  Elizabeth,  knowing  all  these  facts, 
looked  with  suspicion  and  fear  upon  Mary's  refugee 
friends. 

The  English  queen  well  knew  that  Sir  George  Vernon 
was  her  friend,  therefore  his  house  and  his  friendship  were 


42  DOROTHY    VERNON 

my  sanctuary,  without  which  my  days  certainly  would  have 
been  numbered  in  the  land  of  Elizabeth,  and  their  number 
would  have  been  small.  I  was  dependent  on  Sir  George 
not  only  for  a  roof  to  shelter  me,  but  for  my  very  life.  I 
speak  of  these  things  that  you  may  know  some  of  the 
many  imperative  reasons  why  I  desired  to  please  and  con 
ciliate  my  cousin.  In  addition  to  those  reasons,  I  soon 
grew  to  love  Sir  George,  not  only  because  of  his  kindness 
to  me,  but  because  he  was  a  lovable  man.  He  was  gener 
ous,  just,  and  frank,  and  although  at  times  he  was  violent 
almost  to  the  point  of  temporary  madness,  his  heart  was 
usually  gentle,  and  was  as  easily  touched  by  kindness  as  it 
was  quickly  moved  to  cruelty  by  injury,  fancied  or  actual. 
I  have  never  known  a  more  cruel,  tender  man  than  he. 
You  will  see  him  in  each  of  his  natures  before  you  have 
finished  this  history.  But  you  must  judge  him  only  after 
you  have  considered  his  times,  which  were  forty  years  ago, 
his  surroundings,  and  his  blood. 

During  those  two  months  remarkable  changes  occurred 
within  the  walls  of  Haddon,  chief  of  which  were  in  myself, 
and,  alas  !  in  Dorothy. 

My  pilgrimage  to  Haddon,  as  you  already  know,  had 
been  made  for  the  purpose  of  marrying  my  fair  cousin ; 
for  I  did  not,  at  the  time  I  left  Scotland,  suppose  I  should 
need  Sir  George's  protection  against  Elizabeth.  When  I 
met  Dorothy  at  Rowsley,  my  desire  to  marry  her  became 
personal,  in  addition  to  the  mercenary  motives  with  which 
I  had  originally  started.  But  I  quickly  recognized  the 
fact  that  the  girl  was  beyond  my  reach.  I  knew  I  could 
not  win  her  love,  even  though  I  had  a  thousand  years  to 
try  for  it;  and  I  would  not  accept  her  hand  in  marriage 
solely  at  her  father's  command.  I  also  soon  learned  that 
Dorothy  was  the  child  of  her  father,  gentle,  loving,  and 
tender  beyond  the  naming,  but  also  wilful,  violent,  and 
fierce  to  the  extent  that  no  command  could  influence  her. 


THE   PITCHER   GOES   TO   THE   WELL     43 

First  I  shall  speak  of  the  change  within  myself.  I  will 
soon  be  done  with  so  much  "  I  "  and  "me,"  and  you  shall 
have  Dorothy  to  your  heart's  content,  or  trouble,  I  know 
not  which. 

Soon  after  my  arrival  at  Haddon  Hall  the  sun  ushered 
in  one  of  those  wonderful  days  known  only  to  the  English 
autumn,  when  the  hush  of  Nature's  drowsiness,  just  before 
her  long  winter's  sleep,  imparts  its  soft  restfulness  to  man, 
as  if  it  were  a  lotus  feast.  Dorothy  was  ostentatiously 
busy  with  her  household  matters,  and  was  consulting  with 
butler,  cook,  and  steward.  Sir  George  had  ridden  out  to 
superintend  his  men  at  work,  and  I,  wandering  aimlessly 
about  the  hall,  came  upon  Madge  Stanley  sitting  in  the 
chaplain's  room  with  folded  hands. 

"  Lady  Madge,  will  you  go  with  me  for  a  walk  this  beau 
tiful  morning?"  I  asked. 

"  Gladly  would  I  go,  Sir  Malcolm,"  she  responded,  a 
smile  brightening  her  face  and  quickly  fading  away,  "but 
I  —  I  cannot  walk  in  unfamiliar  places.  I  should  fall. 
You  would  have  to  lead  me  by  the  hand,  and  that,  I  fear, 
would  mar  the  pleasure  of  your  walk." 

"  Indeed,  it  would  not,  Lady  Madge.  I  should  enjoy 
my  walk  all  the  more." 

"  If  you  really  wish  me  to  go,  I  shall  be  delighted," 
she  responded,  as  the  brightness  came  again  to  her  face. 
"  I  sometimes  grow  weary,  and,  I  confess,  a  little  sad  sit 
ting  alone  when  Dorothy  cannot  be  with  me.  Aunt 
Dorothy,  now  that  she  has  her  magnifying  glasses,  —  spec 
tacles,  I  think  they  are  called,  —  devotes  all  her  time  to 
reading,  and  dislikes  to  be  interrupted." 

"  I  wish  it  very  much,"  I  said,  surprised  by  the  real 
eagerness  of  my  desire,  and  unconsciously  endeavoring  to 
keep  out  of  the  tones  of  my  voice  a  part  of  that  eagerness. 

"  I  shall  take  you  at  your  word,"  she  said.  "  I  will  go 
to  my  room  to  get  my  hat  and  cloak." 


44  DOROTHY    VERNON 

She  rose  and  began  to  grope  her  way  toward  the  door, 
holding  out  her  white,  expressive  hands  in  front  of  her. 
It  was  pitiful  and  beautiful  to  see  her,  and  my  emotions 
welled  up  in  my  throat  till  I  could  hardly  speak. 

"  Permit  me  to  give  you  my  hand,"  I  said  huskily.  How 
I  longed  to  carry  her !  Every  man  with  the  right  sort  of 
a  heart  in  his  breast  has  a  touch  of  the  mother  instinct  in 
him  ;  but,  alas  !  only  a  touch.  Ah,  wondrous  and  glorious 
womanhood !  If  you  had  naught  but  the  mother  instinct 
to  lift  you  above  your  masters  by  the  hand  of  man-made 
laws,  those  masters  were  still  unworthy  to  tie  the  strings  of 
your  shoes. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  girl,  as  she  clasped  my  hand,  and 
moved  with  confidence  by  my  side.  "  This  is  so  much  bet 
ter  than  the  dreadful  fear  of  falling.  Even  through  these 
rooms  where  I  have  lived  for  many  years  I  feel  safe  only 
in  a  few  places,  —  on  the  stairs,  and  in  my  rooms,  which 
are  also  Dorothy's.  When  Dorothy  changes  the  position 
of  a  piece  of  furniture  in  the  Hall,  she  leads  me  to  it  several 
times  that  I  may  learn  just  where  it  is.  A  long  time  ago 
she  changed  the  position  of  a  chair  and  did  not  tell  me. 
I  fell  against  it  and  was  hurt.  Dorothy  wept  bitterly  over 
the  mishap,  and  she  has  never  since  failed  to  tell  me  of 
such  changes.  I  cannot  make  you  know  how  kind  and 
tender  Dorothy  is  to  me.  I  feel  that  I  should  die  without 
her,  and  I  know  she  would  grieve  terribly  were  we  to 
part." 

I  could  not  answer.  What  a  very  woman  you  will  think 
I  was !  I,  who  could  laugh  while  I  ran  my  sword  through 
a  man's  heart,  could  hardly  restrain  my  tears  for  pity  of 
this  beautiful  blind  girl. 

"  Thank  you  ;  that  will  do,"  she  said,  when  we  came  to 
the  foot  of  the  great  staircase.  "  I  can  now  go  to  my 
rooms  alone." 

When  she  reached  the  top  she  hesitated  and  groped  for 


THE    PITCHER    GOES   TO    THE   WELL     45 

a  moment ;  then  she  turned  and  called  laughingly  to  me 
while  I  stood  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps,  "  I  know  the  way 
perfectly  well,  but  to  go  alone  in  any  place  is  not  like 
being  led." 

"  There  are  many  ways  in  which  one  may  be  led,  Lady 
Madge,"  I  answered  aloud.  Then  I  said  to  myself,  "  That 
girl  will  lead  you  to  Heaven,  Malcolm,  if  you  will  per 
mit  her  to  do  so." 

But  thirty-five  years  of  evil  life  are  hard  to  neutralize. 
There  is  but  one  subtle  elixir  that  can  do  it  —  love  ;  and  I 
had  not  thought  of  that  magic  remedy  with  respect  to 
Madge. 

I  hurriedly  fetched  my  hat  and  returned  to  the  foot  of 
the  staircase.  Within  a  minute  or  two  Madge  came  down 
stairs  holding  up  the  skirt  of  her  gown  with  one  hand, 
while  she  grasped  the  banister  with  the  other.  As  I  watched 
her  descending  I  was  enraptured  with  her  beauty.  Even 
the  marvellous  vital  beauty  of  Dorothy  could  not  compare 
with  this  girl's  fair,  pale  loveliness.  It  seemed  to  be  almost 
a  profanation  for  me  to  admire  the  sweet  oval  of  her  face. 
Upon  her  alabaster  skin,  the  black  eyebrows,  the  long 
lashes,  the  faint  blue  veins  and  the  curving  red  lips  stood 
in  exquisite  relief.  While  she  was  descending  the  stairs, 
I  caught  a  gleam  of  her  round,  snowy  forearm  and  wrist ; 
and  when  my  eyes  sought  the  perfect  curves  of  her  form 
disclosed  by  the  clinging  silk  gown  she  wore,  I  felt  that  I 
had  sinned  in  looking  upon  her,  and  I  was  almost  glad  she 
could  not  see  the  shame  which  was  in  my  face. 

"  Cousin  Malcolm,  are  you  waiting  ? "  she  asked  from 
midway  in  the  staircase. 

''Yes,  I  am  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,"  I  answered. 

"  I  called  you  '  Cousin  Malcolm/  "  she  said,  holding  out 
her  hand  when  she  came  near  me.  "  Pardon  me ;  it 
was  a  slip  of  the  tongue.  I  hear  '  Cousin  Malcolm '  so 
frequently  from  Dorothy  that  the.  name  is  familiar  to  me." 


46  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  I  shall  be  proud  if  you  will  call  me  '  Cousin  Malcolm  ' 
always.  I  like  the  name  better  than  any  that  you  can 
use." 

"  If  you  wish  it,"  she  said,  in  sweet,  simple  candor,  "  I 
will  call  you  '  Cousin  Malcolm,'  and  you  may  call  me 
'  Cousin  Madge  '  or  '  Madge,'  just  as  you  please." 

"  '  Cousin  Madge  '  it  shall  be  ;  that  is  a  compact,"  I  an 
swered,  as  I  opened  the  door  and  we  walked  out  into  the 
fresh  air  of  the  bright  October  morning. 

"  That  will  stand  for  our  first  compact;  we  are  progress 
ing  famously,"  she  said,  with  a  low  laugh  of  delight. 

Ah,  to  think  that  the  blind  can  laugh.     God  is  good. 

We  walked  out  past  the  stables  and  the  cottage,  and 
crossed  the  river  on  the  great  stone  bridge.  Then  we 
took  our  way  down  the  babbling  Wye,  keeping  close  to 
its  banks,  while  the  dancing  waters  and  even  the  gleaming 
pebbles  seemed  to  dimple  and  smile  as  they  softly  sang 
their  song  of  welcome  to  the  fair  kindred  spirit  who  had 
come  to  visit  them.  If  we  wandered  from  the  banks  for 
but  a  moment,  the  waters  seemed  to  struggle  and  turn  in 
their  course  until  they  were  again  by  her  side,  and  then 
would  they  gently  flow  and  murmur  their  contentment  as 
they  travelled  forward  to  the  sea,  full  of  the  memory  of  her 
sweet  presence.  And  during  all  that  time  I  led  her  by  the 
hand.  I  tell  you,  friends,  'tis  sweet  to  write  of  it. 

When  we  returned  we  crossed  the  Wye  by  the  stone 
footbridge  and  entered  the  garden  below  the  terrace  at  the 
corner  postern.  We  remained  for  an  hour  resting  upon 
the  terrace  balustrade,  and  before  we  went  indoors  Madge 
again  spoke  of  Dorothy. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  have  enjoyed  this  walk, 
nor  how  thankful  I  am  to  you  for  taking  me,"  she  said. 

I  did  not  interrupt  her  by  replying,  for  I  loved  to  hear 
her  talk. 

"  Dorothy  sometimes   takes   me  with   her   for  a  short 


THE   PITCHER    GOES   TO   THE   WELL     47 

walk,  but  I  seldom  have  that  pleasure.  Walking  is  too 
slow  for  Dorothy.  She  is  so  strong  and  full  of  life.  She 
delights  to  ride  her  mare  Dolcy.  Have  you  seen  Dolcy  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  responded. 

"  You  must  see  her  at  once.  She  is  the  most  beautiful 
animal  in  the  world.  Though  small  of  limb,  she  is  swift 
as  the  wind,  and  as  easy  as  a  cradle  in  her  gaits.  She 
is  mettlesome  and  fiery,  but  full  of  affection.  She  often 
kisses  Dorothy.  Mare  and  rider  are  finely  mated.  Doro 
thy  is  the  most  perfect  woman,  and  Dolcy  is  the  most  per 
fect  mare.  'The  two  D's,'  we  call  them.  But  Dorothy 
says  we  must  be  careful  not  to  put  a  —  a  dash  between 
them,"  she  said  with  a  laugh  and  a  blush. 

Then  I  led  Madge  into  the  hall,  and  she  was  blithe  and 
happy  as  if  the  blessed  light  of  day  were  in  her  eyes.  It 
was  in  her  soul,  and  that,  after  all,  is  where  it  brings  the 
greatest  good. 

After  that  morning,  Madge  and  I  frequently  walked  out 
when  the  days  were  pleasant.  The  autumn  was  mild,  well 
into  winter  time,  and  by  the  end  of  November  the  trans 
parent  cheeks  of  the  blind  girl  held  an  exquisite  tinge  of 
color,  and  her  form  had  a  new  grace  from  the  strength  she 
had  acquired  in  exercise.  We  had  grown  to  be  dear 
friends,  and  the  touch  of  her  hand  was  a  pleasure  for 
which  I  waited  eagerly  from  day  to  day.  Again  I  say 
thoughts  of  love  for  her  had  never  entered  my  mind.  Per 
haps  their  absence  was  because  of  my  feeling  that  they 
could  not  possibly  exist  in  her  heart  for  me. 

One  evening  in  November,  after  the  servants  had  all 
gone  to  bed,  Sir  George  and  I  went  to  the  kitchen  to  drink 
a  hot  punch  before  retiring  for  the  night.  I  drank  a  mod 
erate  bowl  and  sat  in  a  large  chair  before  the  fire,  smoking 
a  pipe  of  tobacco,  while  Sir  George  drank  brandy  toddy  at 
the  massive  oak  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

Sir    George    was    rapidly   growing   drunk.     He   said : 


48  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Dawson  tells  me  that  the  queen's  officers  arrested  an 
other  of  Mary  Stuart's  damned  French  friends  at  Derby- 
town  yesterday,  —  Count  somebody  ;  I  can't  pronounce 
their  miserable  names." 

"  Can  you  not  remember  his  name  ?  "  I  asked.  "  He 
may  be  a  friend  of  mine."  My  remark  was  intended  to 
remind  Sir  George  that  his  language  was  offensive  to  me. 

"  That  is  true,  Malcolm,"  responded  Sir  George.  "  I 
beg  your  pardon.  I  meant  to  speak  ill  only  of  Mary's 
meddlesome  friends,  who  are  doing  more  injury  than  good 
to  their  queen's  cause  by  their  plotting." 

I  replied :  "  No  one  can  regret  these  plots  more  than 
I  do.  They  certainly  will  work  great  injury  to  the  cause 
they  are  intended  to  help.  But  I  fear  many  innocent 
men  are  made  to  suffer  for  the  few  guilty  ones.  Without 
your  protection,  for  which  I  cannot  sufficiently  thank  you, 
my  life  here  would  probably  be  of  short  duration.  After 
my  misfortunes  in  Scotland,  I  know  not  what  I  should 
have  done  had  it  not  been  for  your  generous  welcome.  I 
lost  all  in  Scotland,  and  it  would  now  be  impossible  for  me 
to  go  to  France.  An  attempt  on  my  part  to  escape  would 
result  in  my  arrest.  Fortune  certainly  has  turned  her 
capricious  back  upon  me,  with  the  one  exception  that  she 
has  left  me  your  friendship." 

"  Malcolm,  my  boy,"  said  Sir  George,  drawing  his  chair 
toward  me,  "that  which  you  consider  your  loss  is  my  great 
gain.  I  am  growing  old,  and  if  you,  who  have  seen  so 
much  of  the  gay  world,  will  be  content  to  live  with  us  and 
share  our  dulness  and  our  cares,  I  shall  be  the  happiest 
man  in  England." 

"I  thank  you  more  than  I  can  tell,"  I  said,  careful  not 
to  commit  myself  to  any  course. 

"Barring  my  quarrel  with  the  cursed  race  of  Manners," 
continued  Sir  George,  "  I  have  little  to  trouble  me ;  and  if 
you  will  remain  with  us,  I  thank  God  I  may  leave  the  feud 


THE    PITCHER    GOES    TO    THE   WELL     49 

in  good  hands.  Would  that  I  were  young  again  only  for 
a  day  that  I  might  call  that  scoundrel  Rutland  and  his 
imp  of  a  son  to  account  in  the  only  manner  whereby  an 
honest  man  may  have  justice  of  a  thief.  There  are  but 
two  of  them,  Malcolm,  —  father  and  son,  —  and  if  they 
were  dead,  the  damned  race  would  be  extinct." 

I  believe  that  Sir  George  Vernon  when  sober  could  not 
have  spoken  in  that  fashion  even  of  his  enemies. 

I  found  difficulty  in  replying  to  my  cousin's  remarks, 
so  I  said  evasively :  — 

"  I  certainly  am  the  most  fortunate  of  men  to  find  so 
warm  a  welcome  from  you,  and  so  good  a  home  as  that 
which  I  have  at  Haddon  Hall.  When  I  met  Dorothy  at 
the  inn,  I  knew  at  once  by  her  kindness  that  my  friends 
of  old  were  still  true  to  me.  I  was  almost  stunned  by 
Dorothy's  beauty." 

My  mention  of  Dorothy  was  unintentional  and  unfortu 
nate.  I  had  shied  from  the  subject  upon  several  previous 
occasions,  but  Sir  George  was  continually  trying  to  lead 
up  to  it.  This  time  my  lack  of  forethought  saved  him 
the  trouble. 

"  Do  you  really  think  that  Doll  is  very  beautiful  —  so 
very  beautiful?  Do  you  really  think  so,  Malcolm?"  said 
the  old  gentleman,  rubbing  his  hands  in  pride  and  pleasure. 

"  Surprisingly  beautiful,"  I  answered,  seeking  hurriedly 
through  my  mind  for  an  excuse  to  turn  the  conversation.  I 
had  within  two  months  learned  one  vital  fact :  beautiful  as 
Dorothy  was,  I  did  not  want  her  for  my  wife,  and  I  could 
not  have  had  her  even  were  I  dying  for  love.  The  more 
I  learned  of  Dorothy  and  myself  during  the  autumn 
through  which  I  had  just  passed  —  and  I  had  learned  more 
of  myself  than  I  had  been  able  to  discover  in  the  thirty- 
five  previous  years  of  my  life  —  the  more  clearly  I  saw  the 
utter  unfitness  of  marriage  between  us. 

"  In   all  your  travels,"    asked  Sir  George,   leaning  his 


50  DOROTHY  VERNON 

elbows  upon  his  knees  and  looking  at  his  feet  between 
his  hands,  "  in  all  your  travels  and  court  life  have  you  ever 
seen  a  woman  who  was  so  beautiful  as  my  girl  Doll  ? " 

His  pride  in  Dorothy  at  times  had  a  tinge  of  egotism 
and  selfishness.  It  seemed  to  be  almost  the  pride  of 
possession  and  ownership.  "  My  girl !  "  The  expression 
and  the  tone  in  which  the  words  were  spoken  sounded  as  if 
he  had  said :  "  My  fine  horse,"  "  My  beautiful  Hall,"  or 
"  My  grand  estates."  Dorothy  was  his  property.  Still,  he 
loved  the  girl  passionately.  She  was  dearer  to  him  than 
all  his  horses,  cattle,  halls,  and  estates  put  together,  and  he 
loved  even  them  to  excess.  He  loved  all  that  he  pos 
sessed  ;  whatever  was  his  was  the  best  of  the  sort.  Such 
a  love  is  apt  to  grow  up  in  the  breasts  of  men  who  have 
descended  from  a  long  line  of  proprietary  ancestors,  and 
with  all  its  materialism  it  has  in  it  possibilities  of  great 
good.  The  sturdy,  unflinching  patriotism  of  the  English 
people  springs  from  this  source.  The  thought,  "  That 
which  I  possess  is  the  best,"  has  beauty  and  use  in  it, 
though  it  leads  men  to  treat  other  men,  and,  alas  !  women, 
as  mere  chattels.  All  this  was  passing  through  my  mind, 
and  I  forgot  to  answer  Sir  George's  question. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  a  woman  more  beautiful  than 
Doll  ?  "  he  again  asked. 

"  I  certainly  have  never  seen  one  whose  beauty  may 
even  be  compared  with  Dorothy's,"  I  answered. 

"And  she  is  young,  too,"  continued  Sir  George;  "she 
is  not  yet  nineteen." 

"That  is  very  young,"  I  answered,  not  knowing  what 
else  to  say. 

"And  she  will  be  rich  some  day.  Very  rich.  I  am  called 
'  King  of  the  Peak,'  you  know,  and  there  are  not  three  es 
tates  in  Derbyshire  which,  if  combined,  would  equal  mine." 

"That  is  true,  cousin,"  I  answered,  "and  I  rejoice  in 
your  good  fortune." 


THE    PITCHER    GOES   TO   THE    WELL     51 

"  Dorothy  will  have  it  all  one  of  these  days  —  all,  all," 
continued  my  cousin,  still  looking  at  his  feet. 

After  a  long  pause,  during  which  Sir  George  took  sev 
eral  libations  from  his  bowl  of  toddy,  he  cleared  his  throat 
and  said,  "  So  Dorothy  is  the  most  beautiful  girl  and  the 
richest  heiress  you  know  ?  " 

"  Indeed  she  is,"  I  responded,  knowing  full  well  what 
he  was  leading  up  to.  Realizing  that  in  spite  of  me  he 
would  now  speak  his  mind,  I  made  no  attempt  to  turn  the 
current  of  the  conversation. 

After  another  long  pause,  and  after  several  more 
draughts  from  the  bowl,  my  old  friend  and  would-be  bene 
factor  said  :  "  You  may  remember  a  little  conversation 
between  us  when  you  were  last  at  H  addon  six  or  seven 
years  ago,  about  —  about  Dorothy?  You  remember  ?" 

I,  of  course,  dared  not  pretend  that  I  had  forgotten. 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  I  responded. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  proposition  by  this  time  ?" 
asked  Sir  George.  "  Dorothy  and  all  she  will  inherit 
shall  be  yours  — 

"  Stop,  stop,  Sir  George  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  You  do  not 
know  what  you  say.  No  one  but  a  prince  or  a  great  peer 
of  the  realm  is  worthy  of  aspiring  to  Dorothy's  hand. 
When  she  is  ready  to  marry  you  should  take  her  to  Lon 
don  court,  where  she  can  make  her  choice  from  among  the 
nobles  of  our  land.  There  is  not  a  marriageable  duke  or 
earl  in  England  who  would  not  eagerly  seek  the  girl  for  a 
wife.  My  dear  cousin,  your  generosity  overwhelms  me, 
but  it  must  not  be  thought  of.  I  am  utterly  unworthy  of 
her  in  person,  age,  and  position.  No  !  no  !  " 

"  But  listen  to  me,  Malcolm,"  responded  Sir  George. 
"  Your  modesty,  which,  in  truth,  I  did  not  know  you 
possessed,  is  pleasing  to  me ;  but  I  have  reasons  of  my 
own  for  wishing  that  you  should  marry  Dorothy.  I  want 
my  estates  to  remain  in  the  Vernon  name,  and  one  day 


52  DOROTHY   VERNON 

you  or  your  children  will  make  my  house  and  my  name 
noble.  You  and  Dorothy  shall  go  to  court,  and  between 
you  —  damme!  if  you  can't  win  a  dukedom,  I  am  no 
prophet.  You  would  not  object  to  change  your  faith, 
would  you  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,"  I  responded,  "of  course  I  should  not  object 
to  that." 

"  Of  course  not.  I  knew  you  were  no  fool,"  said  Sir 
George.  "  Age  !  why,  you  are  only  thirty-five  years  old 
—  little  more  than  a  matured  boy.  I  prefer  you  to  any 
man  in  England  for  Dorothy's  husband." 

"  You  overwhelm  me  with  your  kindness,"  I  returned, 
feeling  that  I  was  being  stranded  on  a  very  dangerous 
shore,  amidst  wealth  and  beauty. 

"  Tut,  tut,  there's  no  kindness  in  it,"  returned  my  cousin. 
"  I  do  not  offer  you  Dorothy  s  hand  from  an  unselfish 
motive.  I  have  told  you  one  motive,  but  there  is  another, 
and  a  little  condition  besides,  Malcolm."  The  brandy 
Sir  George  had  been  drinking  had  sent  the  devil  to  his 
brain. 

"What  is  the  condition?"  I  asked,  overjoyed  to  hear 
that  there  was  one. 

The  old  man  leaned  toward  me  and  a  fierce  blackness 
overclouded  his  face.  "  I  am  told,  Malcolm,  that  you  have 
few  equals  in  swordsmanship,  and  that  the  duello  is  not 
new  to  you.  Is  it  true  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  may  say  it  is  true,"  I  answered.  "  I  have 
fought  successfully  with  some  of  the  most  noted  duellists 
of  —  " 

"  Enough,  enough  !  Now,  this  is  the  condition,  Malcolm, 
—  a  welcome  one  to  you,  I  am  sure;  a  welcome  one  to 
any  brave  man."  His  eyes  gleamed  with  fire  and  hatred. 
"  Quarrel  with  Rutland  and  his  son  and  kill  both  of 
them." 

I   felt  like  recoiling  from  the  old  fiend.     I   had  often 


THE    PITCHER    GOES   TO    THE   WELL     53 

quarrelled  and  fought,  but,  thank  .God,  never  in  cold  blood 
and  with  deliberate  intent  to  do  murder. 

"Then  Dorothy  and  all  I  possess  shall  be  yours,"  said 
Sir  George.  "  The  old  one  will  be  an  easy  victim.  The 
young  one,  they  say,  prides  himself  on  his  prowess.  I  do 
not  know  with  what  cause,  I  have  never  seen  him  fight. 
In  fact,  I  have  never  seen  the  fellow  at  all.  He  has 
lived  at  London  court  since  he  was  a  child,  and  has  sel 
dom,  if  ever,  visited  this  part  of  the  country.  He  was  a 
page  both  to  Edward  VI.  and  to  Queen  Mary.  Why 
Elizabeth  keeps  the  damned  traitor  at  court  to  plot  against 
her  is  more  than  I  can  understand.  Do  the  conditions  suit 
you,  Malcolm  ? "  asked  Sir  George,  piercing  me  with  his 
eyes. 

I  did  not  respond,  and  he  continued :  "  All  I  ask  is  your 
promise  to  kill  Rutland  and  his  son  at  the  first  opportunity. 
I  care  not  how.  The  marriage  may  come  off  at  once.  It 
can't  take  place  too  soon  to  please  me." 

I  could  not  answer  for  a  time.  The  power  to  speak  and 
to  think  had  left  me.  To  accept  Sir  George's  offer  was 
out  of  the  question.  To  refuse  it  would  be  to  give  offence 
beyond  reparation  to  my  only  friend,  and  you  know  what 
that  would  have  meant  to  me.  My  refuge  was  Dorothy. 
I  knew,  however  willing  I  might  be  or  might  appear  to 
be,  Dorothy  would  save  me  the  trouble  and  danger  of 
refusing  her  hand.  So  I  said  :  — 

"We  have  not  consulted  Dorothy.  Perhaps  her  incli 
nations— 

"  Doll's  inclinations  be  damned.  I  have  always  been 
kind  and  indulgent  to  her,  and  she  is  a  dutiful,  obedient 
daughter.  My  wish  and  command  in  this  affair  will  fur 
nish  inclinations  enough  for  Doll." 

"  But,  Sir  George,"  I  remonstrated,  "  I  would  not  accept 
the  hand  of  Dorothy  nor  of  any  woman  unless  she  desired 
it.  I  could  not.  I  could  not." 


54  DOROTHY   VERNON 

"  If  Doll  consents,  I  am  to  understand  that  you  accept  ?  " 
asked  Sir  George. 

I  saw  no  way  out  of  the  dilemma,  and  to  gain  time  I 
said,  "  Few  men  in  their  right  mind  would  refuse  so  nat 
tering  an  offer  unless  there  were  a  most  potent  reason, 
and  I  — I  —  " 

"Good!  good!  I  shall  go  to  bed  happy  to-night  for 
the  first  time  in  years.  The  Rutlands  will  soon  be  out  of 
my  path." 

There  is  a  self-acting  retribution  in  our  evil  passions 
which  never  fails  to  operate.  One  who  hates  must  suffer, 
and  Sir  George  for  years  had  paid  the  penalty  night  and 
day,  unconscious  that  his  pain  was  of  his  own  making. 

Before  we  parted  I  said,  "This  is  a  delicate  matter, 
with  reference  to  Dorothy,  and  I  insist  that  you  give  me 
time  to  win,  if  possible,  her  kindly  regard  before  you 
express  to  her  your  wish." 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense,  Malcolm  !  I'll  tell  the  girl  about 
it  in  the  morning,  and  save  you  the  trouble.  The  women 
will  want  to  make  some  new  gowns  and  —  " 

"  But,"  I  interrupted  emphatically,  "  I  will  not  have  it  so. 
It  is  every  man's  sweet  privilege  to  woo  the  woman  of  his 
choice  in  his  own  way.  It  is  not  a  trouble  to  me ;  it  is  a 
pleasure,  and  it  is  every  woman's  right  to  be  wooed  by  the 
man  who  seeks  her.  I  again  insist  that  I  only  shall  speak 
to  Dorothy  on  this  subject.  At  least,  I  demand  that  I  be 
allowed  to  speak  first." 

"That's  all  damned  nonsense,"  responded  Sir  George; 
"but  if  you  will  have  it  so,  well  and  good.  Take  your 
own  course.  I  suppose  it's  the  fashion  at  court.  The 
good  old  country  way  suits  me.  A  girl's  father  tells  her 
whom  she  is  to  marry,  and,  by  gad,  she  does  it  without  a 
word  and  is  glad  to  get  a  man.  English  girls  obey  their 
parents.  They  know  what  to  expect  if  they  don't  —  the 
lash,  by  God,  and  the  dungeon  under  the  keep.  Your 


THE   PITCHER    GOES   TO    THE  WELL     55 

roundabout  method  is  all  right  for  tenants  and  peasants ; 
but  among  people  who  possess  estates  and  who  control 
vast  interests,  girls  are  —  girls  are  —  Well,  they  are  born 
and  brought  up  to  obey  and  to  help  forward  the  interests 
of  their  houses."  The  old  man  was  growing  very  drunk, 
and  after  a  long  pause  he  continued :  "  Have  your  own 
way,  Malcolm,  but  don't  waste  time.  Now  that  the  matter 
is  settled,  I  want  to  get  it  off  my  hands  quickly." 

"  I  shall  speak  to  Dorothy  on  the  subject  at  the  first 
favorable  opportunity,"  I  responded;  "but  I  warn  you,  Sir 
George,  that  if  Dorothy  proves  disinclined  to  marry  me, 
I  will  not  accept  her  hand." 

"  Never  fear  for  Doll ;  she  will  be  all  right,"  and  we 
parted. 

Doll  all  right !  Had  he  only  known  how  very  far  from 
"all  right"  Dorothy  was,  he  would  have  slept  little  that 
night. 

This  brings  me  to  the  other  change  of  which  I  spoke  — 
the  change  in  Dorothy.      Change  ?      It  was  a  metamor 
phosis. 

A  fortnight  after  the  scene  at  The  Peacock  I  accidentally 
discovered  a  drawing  made  by  Dorothy  of  a  man  with  a 
cigarro  in  his  mouth.  The  girl  snatched  the  paper  from 
my  hands  and  blushed  convincingly. 

"  It  is  a  caricature  of  —  of  him,"  she  said.  She  smiled, 
and  evidently  was  willing  to  talk  upon  the  subject  of  "  him." 
I  declined  the  topic. 

This  happened  a  month  or  more  previous  to  my  conver 
sation  with  Sir  George  concerning  Dorothy.  A  few  days 
after  my  discovery  of  the  cigarro  picture,  Dorothy  and  I 
were  out  on  the  terrace  together.  Frequently  when  she 
was  with  me  she  would  try  to  lead  the  conversation  to  the 
topic  which  I  well  knew  was  in  her  mind,  if  not  in  her 
heart,  at  all  times.  She  would  speak  of  our  first  meeting 


56  DOROTHY    VERNON 

at  The  Peacock,  and  would  use  every  artifice  to  induce  me 
to  bring  up  the  subject  which  she  was  eager  to  discuss,  but 
I  always  failed  her.  On  the  day  mentioned  when  we  were 
together  on  the  terrace,  after  repeated  failures  to  induce 
me  to  speak  upon  the  desired  topic,  she  said,  "  I  suppose 
you  never  meet  —  meet  —  him  when  you  ride  out  ?  " 

"  Whom,  Dorothy  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  The  gentleman  with  the  [cigarro,"  she  responded, 
laughing  nervously. 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "I  know  nothing  of  him." 

The  subject  was  dropped. 

At  another  time  she  said,  "  He  was  in  the  village  — 
Overhaddon  — yesterday." 

Then  I  knew  who  "  him  "  was. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Jennie  Faxton,  the  farrier's  daughter,  told  me.  She 
often  comes  to  the  Hall  to  serve  me.  She  likes  to  act  as 
my  maid,  and  is  devoted  to  me." 

"  Did  he  send  any  word  to  you  ?"  I  asked  at  a  venture. 
The  girl  blushed  and  hung  her  head.  "  N-o,"  she  re 
sponded. 

"  What  was  it,  Dorothy  ?  "  I  asked  gently.  "  You  may 
trust  me." 

"He  sent  no  word  to  me,"  the  girl  responded.  "Jennie 
said  she  heard  two  gentlemen  talking  about  me  in  front  of 
the  farrier's  shop,  and  one  of  them  said  something  about  — 
oh,  I  don't  know  what  it  was.  I  can't  tell  you.  It  was  all 
nonsense,  and  of  course  he  did  not  mean  it." 

"  Tell  me  all,  Dorothy/'  I  said,  seeing  that  she  really 
wanted  to  speak. 

"  Oh,  he  said  something  about  having  seen  Sir  George 
Vernon's  daughter  at  Rowsley,  and  —  and  —  I  can't  tell 
you  what  he  said,  I  am  too  full  of  shame."  If  her  cheeks 
told  the  truth,  she  certainly  was  "full  of  shame." 

"  Tell  me  all,  sweet  cousin ;  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  I  said. 


THE    PITCHER    GOES    TO    THE   WELL     57 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  mine  in  quick  surprise  with  a  look 
of  suspicion. 

"  You  may  trust  me,  Dorothy.  I  say  it  again,  you  may 
trust  me." 

"  He  spoke  of  my  beauty  and  called  it  marvellous,"  said 
the  girl.  "  He  said  that  in  all  the  world  there  was  not 
another  woman  —  oh,  I  can't  tell  you." 

"  Yes,  yes,  go  on,  Dorothy,"  I  insisted. 

"He  said,"  she  continued,  "that  he  could  think  of 
nothing  else  but  me  day  or  night  since  he  had  first  seen 
me  at  Rowsley  —  that  I  had  bewitched  him  and — and  — 
Then  the  other  gentleman  said,  'John,  don't  play  with 
fire ;  it  will  burn  you.  Nothing  good  can  come  of  it  for 
you.'" 

"  Did  Jennie  know  who  the  gentleman  was  ? "  I  asked. 

"  No,"  returned  Dorothy. 

"How  do  you  know  who  he  was?" 

"Jennie  described  him,"  she  said. 

"  How  did  she  describe  him  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  She  said  he  was  —  he  was  the  handsomest  man  in  the 
world  and  —  and  that  he  affected  her  so  powerfully  she 
fell  in  love  with  him  in  spite  of  herself.  The  little  devil, 
to  dare  !  You  see  that  describes  him  perfectly." 

I  laughed  outright,  and  the  girl  blushed  painfully. 

"It  does  describe  him,"  she  said  petulantly.  "You 
know  it  does.  No  one  can  gainsay  that  he  is  wonderfully, 
dangerously  handsome.  I  believe  the  woman  does  not  live 
who  could  refrain  from  feasting  her  eyes  on  his  noble 
beauty.  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  again  —  again."  Tears 
were  in  her  voice  and  almost  in  her  eyes. 

"Dorothy!     My  God,  Dorothy!"  I  exclaimed  in  terror. 

"  Yes  !  yes  !  My  God,  Dorothy  !  "  she  responded,  cov 
ering  her  face  with  her  hands  and  sighing  deeply,  as  she 
drooped  her  head  and  left  me. 

Yes,  yes,  my  God,  Dorothy !     The  helpless  iron  and  the 


58  DOROTHY   VERNON 

terrible  loadstone !  The  passive  seed !  The  dissolving 
cloud  and  the  falling  rain ! 

Less  than  a  week  after  the  above  conversation,  Dorothy, 
Madge,  and  I  were  riding  from  Yulegrave  Church  up  to 
the  village  of  Overhaddon,  which  lies  one  mile  across  the 
hills  from  Haddon  Hall.  My  horse  had  cast  a  shoe,  and 
we  stopped  at  Faxton's  shop  to  have  him  shod.  The  town 
well  is  in  the  middle  of  an  open  space  called  by  the  vil 
lagers  "The  Open,"  around  which  are  clustered  the  half- 
dozen  houses  and  shops  that  constitute  the  village.  The 
girls  were  mounted,  and  I  was  standing  beside  them  in 
front  of  the  farrier's,  waiting  for  my  horse.  Jennie  Faxton, 
a  wild,  unkempt  girl  of  sixteen,  was  standing  in  silent  ad 
miration  near  Dorothy.  Our  backs  were  turned  toward 
the  well.  Suddenly  a  light  came  into  Jennie's  face,  and 
she  plucked  Dorothy  by  the  skirt  of  her  habit. 

"  Look,  mistress,  look  !  Look  there  by  the  well !  "  said 
Jennie  in  a  whisper.  Dorothy  looked  toward  the  well.  I 
also -turned  my  head  and  beheld  my  friend,  Sir  John,  hold 
ing  a  bucket  of  water  for  his  horse  to  drink.  I  had  not 
seen  him  since  we  parted  at  The  Peacock,  and  I  did  not 
show  that  I  recognized  him.  I  feared  to  betray  our  friend 
ship  to  the  villagers.  They,  however,  did  not  know  Sir 
John,  and  I  need  not  have  been  so  cautious.  But  Dorothy 
and  Madge  were  with  me,  and  of  course  I  dared  not  make 
any  demonstration  of  acquaintanceship  with  the  enemy  of 
our  house. 

Dorothy  watched  John  closely,  and  when  he  was  ready 
to  mount  she  struck  her  horse  with  the  whip,  and  boldly 
rode  to  the  well. 

"  May  I  ask  you  to  give  my  mare  water  ? "  she  said. 

"  Certainly.  Ah,  I  beg  pardon.  I  did  not  understand," 
answered  Sir  John,  confusedly.  John,  the  polished,  self- 
poised  courtier,  felt  the  confusion  of  a  country  rustic  in 
the  presence  of  this  wonderful  girl,  whose  knowledge  of 


THE    PITCHER    GOES   TO    THE   WELL     59 

life  had  been  acquired  within  the  precincts  of  Haddon  Hall. 
Yet  the  inexperienced  girl  was  self-poised  and  unconfused, 
while  the  wits  of  the  courtier,  who  had  often  calmly  flat 
tered  the  queen,  had  all  gone  wool-gathering. 

She  repeated  her  request. 

"  Certainly,"  returned  John,  "I  —  I  knew  what  you  said 
—  but  —  but  you  surprised  me." 

"  Yes,"  said  brazen  Dorothy,  "  I  have  surprised  my 
self." 

John,  in  his  haste  to  satisfy  Dolcy's  thirst,  dashed  the 
water  against  the  skirt  of  Dorothy's  habit,  and  was  profuse 
in  his  apologies. 

"  Do  not  mention  it,"  said  Dorothy.  "  I  like  a  damp 
habit.  The  wind  cannot  so  easily  blow  it  about,"  and  she 
laughed  as  she  shook  the  garment  to  free  it  of  the  water. 
Dolcy  refused  to  drink,  and  Dorothy  having  no  excuse  to 
linger  at  the  well,  drew  up  her  reins  and  prepared  to 
leave.  While  doing  so,  she  said  :  — 

"  Do  you  often  come  to  Overhaddon  ?  "  Her  eager  eyes 
shone  like  red  coals,  and  looking  at  John,  she  awaited 
smilingly  his  response. 

"Seldom,"  answered  John  ;  "not  often.  I  mean  every 
day  —  that  is,  if  I  may  come." 

"  Any  one  may  come  to  the  village  whenever  he  wishes 
to  do  so,"  responded  Dorothy,  laughing  too  plainly  at  Sir 
John's  confusion.  "  Is  it  seldom,  or  not  often,  or  every 
day  that  you  come  ? "  In  her  overconfidence  she  was 
chaffing  him.  He  caught  the  tone,  and  looked  quickly 
into  the  girl's  eyes.  Her  gaze  could  not  stand  against 
John's  for  a  moment,  and  the  long  lashes  drooped  to  shade 
her  eyes  from  the  fierce  light  of  his. 

"  I  said  I  would  come  to  Overhaddon  every  day,"  he 
returned ;  "  and  although  I  must  have  appeared  very  fool 
ish  in  my  confusion,  you  cannot  misunderstand  the  full 
meaning  of  my  words." 


60  DOROTHY    VERNON 

In  John's  boldness  and  in  the  ring  of  his  voice  Dorothy 
felt  the  touch  of  her  master,  against  whom  she  well  knew 
all  the  poor  force  she  could  muster  would  be  utterly  help 
less.  She  was  frightened,  and  said  :  — 

"I  —  I  must  go.     Good-by." 

When  she  rode  away  from  him  she  thought :  "  I  believed 
because  of  his  confusion  that  I  was  the  stronger.  I  could 
not  stand  against  him  for  a  moment.  Holy  Virgin  !  what 
have  I  done,  and  to  what  am  I  coming  ? " 

You  may  now  understand  the  magnitude  of  the  task 
which  Sir  George  had  set  for  me  when  he  bade  me  marry 
his  daughter  and  kill  the  Rutlands.  I  might  perform  the 
last-named  feat,  but  dragon  fighting  would  be  mere  child's 
play  compared  with  the  first,  while  the  girl's  heart  was 
filled  with  the  image  of  another  man. 

I  walked  forward  to  meet  Dorothy,  leaving  Madge  near 
the  farrier's  shop. 

"  Dorothy,  are  you  mad  ?  What  have  you  been  doing  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  Could  you  not  see  ? "  she  answered,  under  her  breath, 
casting  a  look  of  warning  toward  Madge  and  a  glance  of 
defiance  at  me.  "  Are  -  you,  too,  blind  ?  Could  you  not 
see  what  I  was  doing  ?  " 

"Yes,"  I  responded. 

"  Then  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

As  I  went  back  to  Madge  I  saw  John  ride  out  of  the 
village  by  the  south  road.  I  afterward  learned  that  he 
rode  gloomily  back  to  Rutland  Castle  cursing  himself  for 
a  fool.  His  duty  to  his  father,  which  with  him  was  a 
strong  motive,  his  family  pride,  his  self-love,  his  sense  of 
caution,  all  told  him  that  he  was  walking  open-eyed  into 
trouble.  He  had  tried  to  remain  away  from  the  vicinity 
of  Haddon  Hall,  but,  despite  his  self-respect  and  self- 
restraint,  he  had  made  several  visits  to  Rowsley  and  to 
Overhaddon,  and  at  one  time  had  ridden  to  Bakewell, 


THE    PITCHER    GOES   TO    THE    WELL     61 

passing  Haddon  Hall  on  his  way  thither.  He  had  as 
much  business  in  the  moon  as  at  Overhaddon,  yet  he  told 
Dorothy  he  would  be  at  the  village  every  day,  and  she,  it 
seemed,  was  only  too  willing  to  give  him  opportunities  to 
transact  his  momentous  affairs. 

As  the  floating  cloud  to  the  fathomless  blue,  as  the  seed 
to  the  earth,  as  the  iron  to  the  loadstone,  so  was  Dorothy 
unto  John. 

Thus  you  see  our  beautiful  pitcher  went  to  the  well  and 
was  broken. 


CHAPTER   IV 
THE  GOLDEN  HEART 

THE  day  after  Dorothy's  first  meeting  with  Manners 
at  Overhaddon  she  was  restless  and  nervous,  and 
about   the   hour   of    three   in   the    afternoon    she 
mounted  Dolcy  and  rode  toward  Bakewell.     That  direc 
tion,  I  was  sure,  she  took  for  the  purpose  of  misleading 
us  at  the  Hall,  and  I  felt  confident  she  would,  when  once 
out   of  sight,  head    her   mare    straight   for    Overhaddon. 
Within  an  hour  Dorothy  was  home  again,  and  very  ill- 
tempered. 

The  next  day  she  rode  out  in  the  morning.  I  asked 
her  if  I  should  ride  with  her,  and  the  emphatic  "No"  with 
which  she  answered  me  left  no  room  for  doubt  in  my 
mind  concerning  her  desire  for  my  company  or  her  desti 
nation.  Again  she  returned  within  an  hour  and  hurried 
to  her  apartments.  Shortly  afterward  Madge  asked  me 
what  Dorothy  was  weeping  about;  and  although  in  my 
own  mind  I  was  confident  of  the  cause  of  Dorothy's  tears, 
I,  of  course,  did  not  give  Madge  a  hint  of  my  suspicion. 
Yet  I  then  knew,  quite  as  well  as  I  now  know,  that  John, 
notwithstanding  the  important  business  which  he  said 
would  bring  him  to  Overhaddon  every  day,  had  forced 
himself  to  remain  at  home,  and  Dorothy,  in  consequence, 
suffered  from  anger  and  wounded  pride.  She  had  twice 
ridden  to  Overhaddon  to  meet  him.  She  had  done  for 
his  sake  that  which  she  knew  she  should  have  left  undone, 

62 


THE    GOLDEN    HEART  63 

and  he  had  refused  the  offering.  A  smarting  conscience, 
an  aching  heart,  and  a  breast  full  of  anger  were  Dorothy's 
rewards  for  her  evil  doing.  The  day  after  her  second 
futile  trip  to  Overhaddon,  I,  to  test  her,  spoke  of  John. 
She  turned  upon  me  with  the  black  look  of  a  fury,  and 
hurled  her  words  at  me. 

"  Never  again  speak  his  despised  name  in  my  hearing. 
Curse  him  and  his  whole  race." 

"  Now  what  has  he  been  doing  ? "  I  asked. 

"  I  tell  you,  I  will  not  speak  of  him,  nor  will  I  listen  to 
you,"  and  she  dashed  away  from  me  like  a  fiery  whirl 
wind. 

Four  or  five  days  later  the  girl  rode  out  again  upon 
Dolcy.  She  was  away  from  home  for  four  long  hours,  and 
when  she  returned  she  was  so  gentle,  sweet,  and  happy 
that  she  was  willing  to  kiss  every  one  in  the  household 
from  Welch,  the  butcher,  to  Sir  George.  She  was  radiant. 
She  clung  to  Madge  and  to  me,  and  sang  and  romped 
through  the  house  like  Dorothy  of  old. 

Madge  said,  "  I  am  so  glad  you  are  feeling  better,  Doro 
thy."  Then,  speaking  to  me  :  "  She  has  been  ill  for  several 
days.  She  could  not  sleep." 

Dorothy  looked  quickly  over  to  me,  gave  a  little  shrug 
to  her  shoulders,  bent  forward  her  face,  which  was  red 
with  blushing,  and  kissed  Madge  lingeringly  upon  the 
lips. 

The  events  of  Dorothy's  trip  I  soon  learned  from  her. 

The  little  scene  between  Dorothy,  Madge,  and  myself, 
after  Dorothy's  joyful  return,  occurred  a  week  before  the 
momentous  conversation  between  Sir  George  and  me  con 
cerning  my  union  with  his  house.  Ten  days  after  Sir 
George  had  offered  me  his  daughter  and  his  lands,  he 
brought  up  the  subject  again.  He  and  I  were  walking  on 
the  ridge  of  Bowling  Green  Hill. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  making  such  fair  progress  with 


64  DOROTHY   VERNON 

Doll,"  said  Sir  George.  "  Have  you  yet  spoken  to  her 
upon  the  subject  ?  " 

I  was  surprised  to  hear  that  I  had  made  any  progress. 
In  fact,  I  did  not  know  that  I  had  taken  a  single  step.  I 
was  curious  to  learn  in  what  the  progress  consisted,  so  I 
said  :  — 

"  I  have  not  spoken  to  Dorothy  yet  concerning  the  mar 
riage,  and  I  fear  that  I  have  made  no  progress  at  all.  She 
certainly  is  friendly  enough  to  me,  but  — 

"  I  should  say  that  the  gift  from  you  she  exhibited  would 
indicate  considerable  progress,"  said  Sir  George,  casting  an 
expressive  glance  toward  me. 

"What  gift?  "  I  stupidly  inquired. 

"  The  golden  heart,  you  rascal.  She  said  you  told  her 
it  had  belonged  to  your  mother." 

"  Holy  Mother  of  Truth  !  "  thought  I,  "pray  give  your 
especial  care  to  my  cousin  Dorothy.  She  needs  it." 

Sir  George  thrust  at  my  side  with  his  thumb  and  con 
tinued  :  — 

"  Don't  deny  it,  Malcolm.  Damme,  you  are  as  shy  as 
a  boy  in  this  matter.  But  perhaps  you  know  better  than 
I  how  to  go  at  her.  I  was  thinking  only  the  other  day 
that  your  course  was  probably  the  right  one.  Doll,  I  sus 
pect,  has  a  dash  of  her  old  father's  temper,  and  she  may 
prove  a  little  troublesome  unless  we  let  her  think  she  is 
having  her  own  way.  Oh,  there  is  nothing  like  knowing 
how  to  handle  them,  Malcolm.  Just  let  them  think  they 
are  having  their  own  way  and  —  and  save  trouble.  Doll 
may  have  more  of  her  fatber  in  her  than  I  suspect,  and 
perhaps  it  is  well  for  us  to  move  slowly.  You  will  be  able 
to  judge,  but  you  must  not  move  too  slowly.  If  in  the 
end  she  should  prove  stubborn,  we  will  break  her  will  or 
break  her  neck.  I  would  rather  have  a  daughter  in 
Bakewell  churchyard  than  a  wilful,  stubborn,  disobedient 
huzzy  in  Haddon  Hall." 


THE    GOLDEN    HEART  65 

Sir  George  had  been  drinking,  and  my  slip  concerning 
the  gift  passed  unnoticed  by  him. 

"  I  am  sure  you  well  know  how  to  proceed  in  this  matter, 
but  don't  be  too  cautious,  Malcolm  ;  the  best  woman  living 
loves  to  be  stormed." 

"Trust  me,"  I  answered,  "I  shall  speak  — "  and  my 
words  unconsciously  sank  away  to  thought,  as  thought 
often,  and  inconveniently  at  times,  grows  into  words. 

"  Dorothy,  Dorothy,"  said  the  thoughts  again  and  again, 
''where  came  you  by  the  golden  heart?"  and  "where 
learned  you  so  villanously  to  lie  ?  " 

"  From  love,"  was  the  response,  whispered  by  the  sigh 
ing  winds.  "  From  love,  that  makes  men  and  women 
like  unto  gods  and  teaches  them  the  tricks  of  devils." 
"  From  love,"  murmured  the  dry  rustling  leaves  and  the 
rugged  trees.  "  From  love,"  sighed  the  fleecy  clouds  as 
they  floated  in  the  sweet  restful  azure  of  the  vaulted  sky. 
"  From  love,"  cried  the  mighty  sun  as  he  poured  his  light 
and  heat  upon  the  eager  world  to  give  it  life.  I  would 
not  give  a  fig  for  a  woman,  however,  who  would  not  lie 
herself  black  in  the  face  for  the  sake  of  her  lover,  and 
I  am  glad  that  it  is  a  virtue  few  women  lack.  One  who 
would  scorn  to  lie  under  all  other  circumstances  would  — 
but  you  understand.  I  suppose  that  Dorothy  had  never 
before  uttered  a  real" lie.  She  hated  all  that  was  evil  and 
loved  all  that  was  good  till  love  came  a-teaching. 

I  quickly  invented  an  excuse  to  leave  Sir  George,  and 
returned  to  the  Hall  to  seek  Dorothy.  I  found  her  and 
asked  her  to  accompany  me  for  a  few  minutes  that  I  might 
speak  with  her  privately.  We  went  out  upon  the  terrace, 
and  I  at  once  began  :  — 

"  You  should  tell  me  when  I  present  you  gifts  that  I  may 
not  cause  trouble  by  my  ignorance  nor  show  surprise  when  I 
suddenly  learn  what  I  have  done.  You  see  when  a  man 
gives  a  lady  a  gift  and  he  does  not  know  it,  he  is  apt  to  —  " 


66  DOROTHY   VERNON 

"  Holy  Virgin  !  "  exclaimed  Dorothy,  pale  with  fear  and 
consternation.  "  Did  you  — ' 

"  No,  I  did  not  betray  you,  but  I  came  perilously  near  it." 

"I  —  I  wanted  to  tell  you  about  it.  I  tried  several 
times  to  do  so  —  I  did  so  long  to  tell  somebody,  but  I 
could  not  bring  myself  to  speak.  I  was  full  of  shame, 
yet  I  was  proud  and  happy,  for  all  that  happened  was 
good  and  pure  and  sacred.  You  are  not  a  woman ;  you 
cannot  know  —  " 

"  But  I  do  know.  I  know  that  you  saw  Manners  the 
other  day,  and  that  he  gave  you  a  golden  heart." 

"  How  did  you  know  ?     Did  any  one  —  " 

"  Tell  me  ?  No.  I  knew  it  when  you  returned  after 
five  hours'  absence,  looking  radiant  as  the  sun." 

"  Oh !  "  the  girl  exclaimed,  with  a  startled  movement. 

"I  also  knew,"  I  continued,  "that  at  other  times  when 
you  rode  out  upon  Dolcy  you  had  not  seen  him." 

"  How  did  you  know  ? "  she  asked,  with  quick-coming 
breath. 

"  By  your  ill-humor,"  I  answered. 

"  I  knew  it  was  so.  I  felt  that  everybody  knew  all  that 
I  had  been  doing.  I  could  almost  see  father  and  Madge 
and  you  —  even  the  servants  —  reading  the  wickedness 
written  upon  my  heart.  I  knew  that  I  could  hide  it  from 
nobody."  Tears  were  very  near  the -girl's  eyes. 

"We  cannot  help  thinking  that  our  guilty  consciences, 
through  which  we  see  so  plainly  our  own  evil,  are  trans 
parent  to  all  the  world.  In  that  fact  lies  an  evil-doer's 
greatest  danger,"  said  I,  preacher  fashion  ;  "but  you  need 
have  no  fear.  What  you  have  done  I  believe  is  suspected 
by  no  one  save  me." 

A  deep  sigh  of  relief  rose  from  the  girl's  heaving 
breast. 

"  Well,"  she  began,  "  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it,  and 
I  am  only  too  glad  to  do  so.  It  is  heavy,  Malcolm, 


THE     GOLDEN    HEART  67 

heavy  on  my  conscience.  But  I  would  not  be  rid  of  it 
for  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth." 

"  A  moment  since  you  told  me  that  your  conduct  was 
good  and  pure  and  sacred,  and  now  you  tell  me  that  it  is 
heavy  on  your  conscience.  Does  one  grieve,  Dorothy,  for 
the  sake  of  that  which  is  good  and  pure  and  sacred  ? " 

"  I  cannot  answer  your  question,"  she  replied.  "  I  am 
no  priest.  But  this  I  know :  I  have  done  no  evil,  and 
my  conscience  nevertheless  is  sore.  Solve  me  the  riddle, 
Malcolm,  if  you  can." 

"  I  cannot  solve  your  riddle,  Dorothy,"  I  replied ;  "  but  I 
feel  sure  it  will  be  far  safer  for  each  of  us  if  you  will  tell 
me  all  that  happens  hereafter." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  right,"  she  responded;  "but  some 
secrets  are  so  delicious  that  we  love  to  suck  their  sweets 
alone.  I  believe,  however,  your  advice  is  good,  and  I 
will  tell  you  all  that  has  happened,  though  I  cannot  look 
you  in  the  face  while  doing  it."  She  hesitated  a  moment, 
and  her  face  was  red  with  tell-tale  blushes.  She  con 
tinued,  "  I  have  acted  most  unmaidenly." 

"  Unmaidenly  perhaps,  but  not  unwomanly,"  said  I. 

"  I  thank  you,"  she  said,  interrupting  my  sentence. 
It  probably  was  well  that  she  did  so,  for  I  was  about  to 
add,  "  To  act  womanly  often  means  to  get  yourself  into 
mischief  and  your  friends  into  as  much  trouble  as  pos 
sible."  Had  I  finished  my  remark,  she  would  not  have 
thanked  me. 

"Well,"  said  the  girl,  beginning  her  laggard  narrative, 
"  after  we  saw  —  saw  him  at  Overhaddon,  you  know,  I  went 
to  the  village  on  each  of  three  days  — 

"  Yes,  I  know  that  also,"  I  said. 

"  How  did  you  —  but  never  mind.  I  did  not  see  him, 
and  when  I  returned  home  I  felt  angry  and  hurt  and  — 
and  —  but  never  mind  that  either.  One  day  I  found 
him,  and  I  at  once  rode  to  the  well  where  he  was  standing 


68  DOROTHY    VERNON 

by  his  horse.  He  drew  water  for  Dolcy,  but  the  perverse 
mare  would  not  drink." 

"A  characteristic  of  her  sex,"  I  muttered. 

"What  did  you  say  ? "  asked  the  girl. 

"Nothing." 

She  continued  :  "  He  seemed  constrained  and  distant  in 
his  manner,  but  I  knew,  that  is,  I  thought —  I  mean  I  felt  — 
oh,  you  know  —  he  looked  as  if  he  were  glad  to  see  me 
and  I  —  I,  oh,  God  !  I  was  so  glad  and  happy  to  see  him 
that  I  could  hardly  restrain  myself  to  act  at  all  maidenly. 
He  must  have  heard  my  heart  beat.  I  thought  he  was  in 
trouble.  He  seemed  to  have  something  he  wished  to  say 
to  me." 

"  He  doubtless  had  a  great  deal  he  wished  to  say  to 
you,"  said  I,  again  tempted  to  futile  irony. 

"  I  was  sure  he  had  something  to  say,"  the  girl  returned 
seriously.  "  He  was  in  trouble.  I  knew  that  he  was,  and 
I  longed  to  help  him." 

"  What  trouble  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  forgot  to  ask,  but  he  looked 
troubled." 

"  Doubtless  he  was  troubled,"  I  responded.  "  He  had 
sufficient  cause  for  trouble,"  I  finished  the  sentence  to 
myself  with  the  words,  "  in  you." 

"  What  was  the  cause  of  his  trouble  ?  "  she  hastily  asked, 
turning  her  face  toward  me. 

"  I  do  not  know  certainly,"  I  answered  in  a  tone  of  irony 
which  should  have  pierced  an  oak  board,  while  the  girl 
listened  and  looked  at  me  eagerly  ;  "but  I  might  guess." 

"What  was  it?  What  was  it?  Let  me  hear  you 
guess,"  she  asked. 

"  You,"  I  responded  laconically. 

"  I  !  "  she  exclaimed  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  you,"  I  responded  with  emphasis.  "  You  would 
bring  trouble  to  any  man,  but  to  Sir  John  Manners  —  well, 


THE    GOLDEN    HEART  69 

if  he  intends  to  keep  up  these  meetings  with  you  it  would 
be  better  for  his  peace  and  happiness  that  he  should  get 
him  a  house  in  hell,  for  he  would  live  there  more  happily 
than  on  this  earth." 

"That  is  a  foolish,  senseless  remark,  Malcolm,"  the  girl 
replied,  tossing  her  head  with  a  show  of  anger  in  her  eyes. 
"  This  is  no  time  to  jest."  I  suppose  I  could  not  have 
convinced  her  that  I  was  not  jesting. 

"  At  first  we  did  not  speak  to  each  other  even  to  say 
good  day,  but  stood  by  the  well  in  silence  for  a  very  long 
time.  The  village  people  were  staring  at  us,  and  I  felt 
that  every  window  had  a  hundred  faces  in  it,  and  every 
face  a  hundred  eyes." 

"You  imagined  that,"  said  I,  "because  of  your  guilty 
conscience." 

"  Perhaps  so.  But  it  seemed  to  me  that  we  stood  by 
the  well  in  silence  a  very  long  time.  You  see,  Cousin 
Malcolm,  I  was  not  the  one  who  should  speak  first.  I  had 
done  more  than  my  part  in  going  to  meet  him." 

"  Decidedly  so,"  said  I,  interrupting  the  interesting 
narrative. 

"  When  I  could  bear  the  gaze  of  the  villagers  no  longer, 
I  drew  up  my  reins  and  started  to  leave  The  Open  by  the 
north  road.  After  Dolcy  had  climbed  halfway  up  North 
Hill,  which  as  you  know  overlooks  the  village,  I  turned  my 
head  and  saw  Sir  John  still  standing  by  the  well,  resting 
his  hand  upon  his  horse's  mane.  He  was  watching  me.  I 
grew  angry,  and  determined  that  he  should  follow  me,  even 
if  I  had  to  call  him.  So  I  drew  Dolcy  to  a  stand.  Was  not 
that  bold  in  me?  But  wait,  there  is  worse  to  come,  Malcolm. 
He  did  not  move,  but  stood  like  a  statue  looking  toward 
me.  I  knew  that  he  wanted  to  come,  so  after  a  little  time 
I  —  I  beckoned  to  him  and  —  and  then  he  came  like  a 
thunderbolt.  Oh !  it  was  delicious.  I  put  Dolcy  to  a 
gallop,  for  when  he  started  toward  me  I  was  frightened. 


7o  DOROTHY    VERNON 

Besides  I  did  not  want  him  to  overtake  me  till  we  were 
out  of  the  village.  But  when  once  he  had  started,  he  did 
not  wait.  He  was  as  swift  now  as  he  had  been  slow,  and 
my  heart  throbbed  and  triumphed  because  of  his  eagerness, 
though  in  truth  I  was  afraid  of  him.  Dolcy,  you  know,  is 
very  fleet,  and  when  I  touched  her  with  the  whip  she  soon 
put  half  a  mile  between  me  and  the  village.  Then  I 
brought  her  to  a  walk  and  —  and  he  quickly  overtook  me. 

"When  he  came  up  to  me  he  said:  'I  feared  to  follow 
you,  though  I  ardently  wished  to  do  so.  I  dreaded  to  tell 
you  my  name  lest  you  should  hate  me.  Sir  Malcolm  at  The 
Peacock  said  he  would  not  disclose  to  you  my  identity.  I 
am  John  Manners.  Our  fathers  are  enemies.' 

"Then  I  said  to  him,  'That  is  the  reason  I  wish  to  talk 
to  you.  I  wished  you  to  come  to  meet  me  because  I  wanted 
to  tell  you  that  I  regret  and  deplore  the  feud  between  our 
fathers.'  —  '  Ah,  you  wished  me  to  come  ? '  he  asked.  —  '  Of 
course  I  did,'  I  answered,  '  else  why  should  I  be  here  ? '  — 
'  No  one  regrets  the  feud  between  our  houses  so  deeply  as 
I,'  replied  Sir  John.  '  I  can  think  of  nothing  else  by  day, 
nor  can  I  dream  of  anything  else  by  night.  It  is  the 
greatest  cause  for  grief  and  sorrow  that  has  ever  come  into 
my  life.'  You  see,  Cousin  Malcolm,"  the  girl  continued, 
"  I  was  right.  His  father's  conduct  does  trouble  him. 
Isn't  he  noble  and  broad-minded  to  see  the  evil  of  his 
father's  ways  ? " 

I  did  not  tell  the  girl  that  Sir  John's  regret  for  the  feud 
between  the  houses  of  Manners  and  Vernon  grew  out  of 
the  fact  that  it  separated  him  from  her ;  nor  did  I  tell  her 
that  he  did  not  grieve  over  his  "father's  ways." 

I  asked,  "  Did  Sir  John  tell  you  that  he  grieved  because 
of  his  father's  ill-doing  ? " 

"  N-o,  not  in  set  terms,  but  —  that,  of  course,  would  have 
been  very  hard  for  him  to  say.  I  told  you  what  he  said, 
and  there  could  be  no  other  meaning  to  his  words." 


THE    GOLDEN    HEART  71 

"  Of  course  not,"  I  responded. 

"  No,  and  I  fairly  longed  to  reach  out  rny  hand  and 
clutch  him,  because  —  because  I  was  so  sorry  for  him." 

"  Was  sorrow  your  only  feeling  ?  "  I  asked. 

The  girl  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  and  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  Then  she  sobbed  gently  and  said,  "  Oh, 
Cousin  Malcolm,  you  are  so  old  and  so  wise."  ("  Thank 
you,"  thought  I,  "a  second  Daniel  come  to  judgment  at 
thirty-five ;  or  Solomon  and  Methuselah  in  one.")  She 
continued:  "Tell  me,  tell  me,  what  is  this  terrible  thing 
that  has  come  upon  me.  I  seem  to  be  living  in  a  dream. 
I  am  burning  with  a  fever,  and  a  heavy  weight  is 
here  upon  my  breast.  I  cannot  sleep  at  night.  I  can  do 
nothing  but  long  and  yearn  for  —  for  I  know  not  what  — 
till  at  times  it  seems  that  some  frightful,  unseen  monster  is 
slowly  drawing  the  heart  out  of  my  bosom.  I  think  of  — 
of  him  at  all  times,  and  I  try  to  recall  his  face,  and  the 
tones  of  his  voice  until,  Cousin  Malcolm,  I  tell  you  I  am 
almost  mad.  I  call  upon  the  Holy  Virgin  hour  by  hour  to 
pity  me  ;  but  she  is  pure,  and  cannot  know  what  I  feel.  I 
hate  and  loathe  myself.  To  what  am  I  coming  ?  Where 
will  it  all  end  ?  Yet  I  can  do  nothing  to  save  myself.  I 
am  powerless  against  this  terrible  feeling.  I  cannot  even 
resolve  to  resist  it.  It  came  upon  me  mildly  that  day 
at  The  Peacock  Inn,  when  I  first  saw  him,  and  it  grows 
deeper  and  stronger  day  by  day,  and,  alas !  night  by  night, 
I  seem  to  have  lost  myself.  In  some  strange  way  I  feel  as 
if  I  had  sunk  into  him  —  that  he  had  absorbed  me." 

"The  iron,  the  seed,  the  cloud,  and  the  rain,"  thought  I. 

"I  believed,"  continued  the  girl,  "that  if  he  would  exert 
his  will  I  might  have  relief  ;  but  there  again  I  find  trouble, 
for  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  ask  him  to  will  it.  The  feel 
ing  within  me  is  like  a  sore  heart :  painful  as  it  is,  I  must 
keep  it.  Without  it  I  fear  I  could  not  live." 

After  this  outburst  there  was  a  long  pause  during  which 


72  DOROTHY    VERNON 

she  walked  by  my  side,  seemingly  unconscious  that  I  was 
near  her.  I  had  known  for  some  time  that  Dorothy  was 
interested  in  Manners  ;  but  I  was  not  prepared  to  see  such 
a  volcano  of  passion.  I  need  not  descant  upon  the  evils 
and  dangers  of  the  situation.  The  thought  that  first  came 
to  me  was  that  Sir  George  would  surely  kill  his  daughter 
before  he  would  allow  her  to  marry  a  son  of  Rutland.  I 
was  revolving  in  my  mind  how  I  should  set  about  to  mend 
the  matter  when  Dorothy  again  spoke. 

"  Tell  me,  Cousin  Malcolm,  can  a  man  throw  a  spell  over 
a  woman  and  bewitch  her  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  have  never  heard  of  a  man  witch," 
I  responded. 

"  No  ? "  asked  the  girl. 

"  But,"  I  continued,  "  I  do  know  that  a  woman  may 
bewitch  a  man.  John  Manners,  I  doubt  not,  could  also 
testify  knowingly  on  the  subject  by  this  time." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  he  is  bewitched  ? "  cried  Dorothy, 
grasping  my  arm  and  looking  eagerly  into  my  face.  "  If 
I  could  bewitch  him,  I  would  do  it.  I  would  deal  with  the 
devil  gladly  to  learn  the  art.  I  would  not  care  for  my 
soul.  I  do  not  fear  the  future.  The  present  is  a  thou 
sand-fold  dearer  to  me  than  either  the  past  or  the  future. 
I  care  not  what  comes  hereafter.  I  want  him  now.  Ah, 
Malcolm,  pity  my  shame." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  after  a 
moment  continued  :  "  I  am  not  myself.  I  belong  not  to 
myself.  But  if  I  knew  that  he  also  suffers,  I  do  believe  my 
pain  would  be  less." 

"  I  think  you  may  set  your  heart  at  rest  upon  that  point," 
I  answered.  "He,  doubtless,  also  suffers." 

"  I  hope  so,"  she  responded,  unconscious  of  the  selfish 
wish  she  had  expressed.  "  If  he  does  not,  I  know  not 
what  will  be  my  fate." 

I  saw  that  I  had  made  a  mistake  in  assuring  her  that 


THE    GOLDEN    HEART  73 

John  also  suffered,  and  I  determined  to  correct  it  later  on, 
if  possible. 

Dorothy  was  silent,  and  I  said,  "  You  have  not  told  me 
about  the  golden  heart." 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  she  answered.  "  We  rode  for  two 
hours  or  more,  and  talked  of  the  weather  and  the  scenery, 
until  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  said  concerning  either. 
Then  Sir  John  told  me  of  the  court  in  London,  where  he 
has  always  lived,  and  of  the  queen  whose  hair,  he  says, 
is  red,  but  not  at  all  like  mine.  I  wondered  if  he  would 
speak  of  the  beauty  of  my  hair,  but  he  did  not.  He  only 
looked  at  it.  Then  he  told  me  about  the  Scottish  queen 
whom  he  once  met  when  he  was  on  an  embassy  to  Edin 
burgh.  He  described  her  marvellous  beauty,  and  I  believe 
he  sympathizes  with  her  cause  —  that  is,  with  her  cause  in 
Scotland.  He  says  she  has  no  good  cause  in  England. 
He  is  true  to  our  queen.  Well  —  well  he  talked  so  inter 
estingly  that  I  could  have  listened  a  whole  month  —  yes, 
all  my  life." 

"  I  suppose  you  could,"  I  said. 

"Yes,"  she  continued,  "but  I  could  not  remain  longer 
from  home,  and  when  I  left  him  he  asked  me  to  accept  a 
keepsake  which  had  belonged  to  his  mother,  as  a  token 
that  there  should  be  no  feud  between  him  and  me."  And 
she  drew  from  her  bosom  a  golden  heart  studded  with  dia 
monds  and  pierced  by  a  white  silver  arrow. 

"  I,  of  course,  accepted  it,  then  we  said  '  good-by,'  and 
I  put  Dolcy  to  a  gallop  that  she  might  speedily  take  me 
out  of  temptation." 

"  Have  you  ridden  to  Overhaddon  for  the  purpose  of 
seeing  Manners  many  times  since  he  gave  you  the  heart  ? " 
I  queried. 

"  What  would  you  call '  many  times  '  ?  "  she  asked,  droop 
ing  her  head. 

"Every   day?"     I    said   interrogatively.      She  nodded. 


74  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"Yes.  But  I  have  seen  him  only  once  since  the  day 
when  he  gave  me  the  heart." 

Nothing  I  could  say  would  do  justice  to  the  subject,  so  I 
remained  silent. 

"  But  you  have  not  yet  told  me  how  your  father  came  to 
know  of  the  golden  heart,"  I  said. 

"  It  was  this  way  :  One  morning  while  I  was  looking  at 
the  heart,  father  came  upon  me  suddenly  before  I  could 
conceal  it.  He  asked  me  to  tell  him  how  I  came  by  the 
jewel,  and  in  my  fright  and  confusion  I  could  think  of 
nothing  else  to  say,  so  I  told  him  you  had  given  it  to  me. 
He  promised  not  to  speak  to  you  about  the  heart,  but  he 
did  not  keep  his  word.  He  seemed  pleased." 

"  Doubtless  he  was  pleased,"  said  I,  hoping  to  lead  up 
to  the  subject  so  near  to  Sir  George's  heart,  but  now 
farther  than  ever  from  mine. 

The  girl  unsuspectingly  helped  me. 

"  Father  asked  if  you  had  spoken  upon  a  subject  of 
great  interest  to  him  and  to  yourself,  and  I  told  him  you 
had  not.  '  When  he  does  speak,'  said  father  most  kindly, 
'  I  want  you  to  grant  his  request '  —  and  I  will  grant  it, 
Cousin  Malcolm."  She  looked  in  my  face  and  continued  : 
"  I  will  grant  your  request,  whatever  it  may  be.  You  are 
the  dearest  friend  I  have  in  the  world,  and  mine  is  the 
most  loving  and  lovable  father  that  girl  ever  had.  It 
almost  breaks  my  heart  when  I  think  of  his  suffering 
should  he  learn  of  what  I  have  done  —  that  which  I  just 
told  to  you."  She  walked  beside  me  meditatively  for  a 
moment  and  said,  "  To-morrow  I  will  return  Sir  John's 
gift  and  I  will  never  see  him  again." 

I  felt  sure  that  by  to-morrow  she  would  have  repented  of 
her  repentance;  but  I  soon  discovered  that  I  had  given  her 
much  more  time  than  she  needed  to  perform  that  trifling 
feminine  gymnastic,  for  with  the  next  breath  she  said  :  — 

"  I  have  no  means  of  returning  the  heart.     I  must  see 


THE    GOLDEN    HEART  75 

him  once  more  and  I  will  give  —  give  it  —  it  —  back  to  — 
to  him,  and  will  tell  him  that  I  can  see  him  never  again." 
She  scarcely  had  sufficient  resolution  to  finish  telling  her 
intention.  Whence,  then,  would  come  the  will  to  put  it  in 
action  ?  Forty  thieves  could  not  have  stolen  the  heart 
from  her,  though  she  thought  she  was  honest  when  she 
said  she  would  take  it  to  him. 

"  Dorothy,"  said  I,  seriously  but  kindly,  "  have  you  and 
Sir  John  spoken  of  — 

She  evidently  knew  that  I  meant  to  say  "of  love,"  for 
she  interrupted  me. 

"  N-o,  but  surely  he  knows.  And  I  —  I  think  —  at 
least  I  hope  with  all  my  heart  that  — 

"  I  will  take  the  heart  to  Sir  John,"  said  I,  interrupting 
her  angrily,  "  and  you  need  not  see  him  again.  He  has 
acted  like  a  fool  and  a  knave.  He  is  a  villain,  Dorothy, 
and  I  will  tell  him  as  much  in  the  most  emphatic  terms  I 
have  at  my  command." 

"  Dare  you  speak  against  him  or  to  him  upon  the  sub 
ject  !  "  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  blazing  with  anger ;  "  you  — 
you  asked  for  my  confidence  and  I  gave  it.     You  said  I 
might  trust  you  and  I  did  so,  and  now  you  show  me  that 
I  am  a  fool  indeed.     Traitor !  " 

"  My  dear  cousin,"  said  I,  seeing  that  she  spoke  the 
truth  in  charging  me  with  bad  faith,  "  your  secret  is  safe 
with  me.  I  swear  it  by  my  knighthood.  You  may  trust 
me.  I  spoke  in  anger.  But  Sir  John  has  acted  badly. 
That  you  cannot  gainsay.  You,  too,  have  done  great  evil. 
That  also  you  cannot  gainsay." 

"  No,"  said  the  girl,  dejectedly,  "  I  cannot  deny  it ;  but 
the  greatest  evil  is  yet  to  come." 

"  You  must  do  something,"  I  continued.  "  You  must 
take  some  decisive  step  that  will  break  this  connection,  and 
you  must  take  the  step  at  once  if  you  would  save  yourself 
from  the  frightful  evil  that  is  in  store  for  you.  Forgive 


76  DOROTHY    VERNON 

me  for  what  I  said,  sweet  cousin.  My  angry  words  sprang 
from  my  love  for  you  and  my  fear  for  your  future." 

No  girl's  heart  was  more  tender  to  the  influence  of 
kindness  than  Dorothy's.  No  heart  was  more  obdurate 
to  unkindness  or  peremptory  command. 

My  words  softened  her  at  once,  and  she  tried  to 
smother  the  anger  I  had  aroused.  But  she  did  not 
entirely  succeed,  and  a  spark  remained  which  in  a  mo 
ment  or  two  created  a  disastrous  conflagration.  You 
shall  hear. 

She  walked  by  my  side  in  silence  for  a  little  time,  and 
then  spoke  in  a  low,  slightly  sullen  tone  which  told  of  her 
effort  to  smother  her  resentment. 

"  I  do  trust  you,  Cousin  Malcolm.  What  is  it  that  you 
wish  to  ask  of  me  ?  Your  request  is  granted  before  it  is 
made." 

"  Do  not  be  too  sure  of  that,  Dorothy,"  I  replied.  "  It  is 
a  request  your  father  ardently  desires  me  to  make,  and  I 
do  not  know  how  to  speak  to  you  concerning  the  subject 
in  the  way  I  wish." 

I  could  not  ask  her  to  marry  me,  and  tell  her  with  the 
same  breath  that  I  did  not  want  her  for  my  wife.  I  felt 
I  must  wait  for  a  further  opportunity  to  say  that  I  spoke 
only  because  her  father  had  required  me  to  do  so,  and  that 
circumstances  forced  me  to  put  the  burden  of  refusal  upon 
her.  I  well  knew  that  she  would  refuse  me,  and  then  I 
intended  to  explain. 

"  Why,  what  is  it  all  about  ? "  asked  the  girl  in  surprise, 
suspecting,  I  believe,  what  was  to  follow, 

"  It  is  this :  your  father  is  anxious  that  his  vast  estates 
shall  not  pass  out  of  the  family  name,  and  he  wishes  you 
to  be  my  wife,  so  that  your  children  may  bear  the  loved 
name  of  Vernon." 

I  could  not  have  chosen  a  more  inauspicious  time  to 
speak.  She  looked  at  me  for  an  instant  in  surprise, 


THE    GOLDEN    HEART  77 

turning  to  scorn.  Then  she  spoke  in  tones  of  withering 
contempt. 

"  Tell  my  father  that  I  shall  never  bear  a  child  by  the 
name  of  Vernon.  I  would  rather  go  barren  to  my  grave. 
Ah  !  that  is  why  Sir  John  Manners  is  a  villain  ?  That 
is  why  a  decisive  step  should  be  taken  ?  That  is  why 
you  come  to  my  father's  house  a-fortune-hunting  ?  After 
you  have  squandered  your  patrimony  and  have  spent  a 
dissolute  youth  in  profligacy,  after  the  women  of  the  class 
you  have  known  will  have  no  more  of  you  but  choose 
younger  men,  you  who  are  old  enough  to  be  my  father 
come  here  and  seek  your  fortune,  as  your  father  sought 
his,  by  marriage.  I  do  not  believe  that  my  father  wishes 
me  to  —  to  marry  you.  You  have  wheedled  him  into  giving 
his  consent  when  he  was  in  his  cups.  But  even  if  he 
wished  it  with  all  his  heart,  I  would  not  marry  you." 
Then  she  turned  and  walked  rapidly  toward  the  Hall. 

Her  fierce  words  angered  me;  for  in  the  light  of 
my  real  intentions  her  scorn  was  uncalled  for,  and  her 
language  was  insulting  beyond  endurance.  For  a  moment 
or  two  the  hot  blood  rushed  to  my  brain  and  rendered  me 
incapable  of  intelligent  thought.  But  as  Dorothy  walked 
from  me  I  realized  that  something  must  be  done  at  once 
to  put  myself  right  with  her.  When  my  fit  of  temper 
had  cooled,  and  when  I  considered  that  the  girl  did  not 
know  my  real  intentions,  I  could  not  help  acknowl 
edging  that  in  view  of  all  that  had  just  passed  between 
us  concerning  Sir  John  Manners,  and,  in  fact,  in  view 
of  all  that  she  had  seen  and  could  see,  her  anger  was 
justifiable. 

I  called  to  her :  "  Dorothy,  wait  a  moment.  You  have 
not  heard  all  I  have  to  say." 

She  hastened  her  pace.  A  few  rapid  strides  brought 
me  to  her  side.  I  was  provoked,  not  at  her  words, 
for  they  were  almost  justifiable,  but  because  she  would 


78  DOROTHY    VERNON 

not  stop  to  hear  me.  I  grasped  her  rudely  by  the  arm 
and  said :  — 

"  Listen  till  I  have  finished." 

"  I  will  not,"  she  answered  viciously.  "  Do  not  touch 
me." 

I  still  held  her  by  the  arm  and  said :  "  I  do  not  wish  to 
marry  you.  I  spoke  only  because  your  father  desired  me  to 
do  so,  and  because  my  refusal  to  speak  would  have  offended 
him  beyond  any  power  of  mine  to  make  amends.  I  could 
not  tell  you  that  I  did  not  wish  you  for  my  wife  until  you 
had  given  me  an  opportunity.  I  was  forced  to  throw  the 
burden  of  refusal  upon  you." 

"That  is  but  a  ruse  —  a  transparent,  flimsy  ruse,"  re 
sponded  the  stubborn,  angry  girl,  endeavoring  to  draw  her 
arm  from  my  grasp. 

"  It  is  not  a  ruse,"  I  answered.  "  If  you  will  listen  to 
me  and  will  help  me  by  acting  as  I  suggest,  we  may  be 
tween  us  bring  your  father  to  our  way  of  thinking,  and 
I  may  still  be  able  to  retain  his  friendship." 

"What  is  your  great  plan?"  asked  Dorothy,  in  a  voice 
such  as  one  might  expect  to  hear  from  a  piece  of  ice. 

"  I  have  formed  no  plan  as  yet,"  I  replied,  "  although  I 
have  thought  of  several.  Until  we  can  determine  upon 
one,  I  suggest  that  you  permit  me  to  say  to  your  father 
that  I  have  asked  you  to  be  my  wife,  and  that  the  subject 
has  come  upon  you  so  suddenly  that  you  wish  a  short  time 
—  a  fortnight  or  a  month  —  in  which  to  consider  your 
answer." 

"That  is  but  a  ruse,  I  say,  to  gain  time,"  she  answered 
contemptuously.  "  I  do  not  wish  one  moment  in  which  to 
consider.  You  already  have  my  answer.  I  should  think 
you  had  had  enough.  Do  you  desire  more  of  the  same 
sort?  A  little  of  such  treatment  should  go  a  long  way 
with  a  man  possessed  of  one  spark  of  honor  or  self-respect." 

Her  language  would  have  angered  a  sheep. 


THE    GOLDEN    HEART  79 

"  If  you  will  not  listen  to  me,"  I  answered,  thoroughly 
aroused  and  careless  of  consequences,  "  go  to  your 
father.  Tell  him  I  asked  you  to  be  my  wife,  and  that  you 
scorned  my  suit.  Then  take  the  consequences.  He  has 
always  been  gentle  and  tender  to  you  because  there  has 
been  no  conflict.  Cross  his  desires,  and  you  will  learn  a 
fact  of  which  you  have  never  dreamed.  You  have  seen 
the  manner  in  which  he  treats  others  who  oppose  him. 
You  will  learn  that  with  you,  too,  he  can  be  one  of  the 
crudest  and  most  violent  of  men." 

"  You  slander  my  father.  I  will  go  to  him  as  you  ad 
vise  and  will  tell  him  that  I  would  not  marry  you  if  you 
wore  the  English  crown.  I,  myself,  will  tell  him  of  my 
meeting  with  Sir  John  Manners  rather  than  allow  you  the 
pleasure  of  doing  so.  He  will  be  angry,  but  he  will  pity 
me." 

"  For  God's  sake,  Dorothy,  do  not  tell  your  father  of 
your  meetings  at  Overhaddon.  He  would  kill  you.  Have 
you  lived  in  the  same  house  with  him  all  these  years  and 
do  you  not  better  know  his  character  than  to  think  that 
you  may  go  to  him  with  the  tale  you  have  just  told  me,  and 
that  he  will  forgive  you  ?  Feel  as  you  will  toward  me, 
but  believe  me  when  I  swear  to  you  by  my  knighthood 
that  I  will  betray  to  no  person  what  you  have  this  day 
divulged  to  me." 

Dorothy  made  no  reply,  but  turned  from  me  and 
rapidly  walked  toward  the  Hall.  I  followed  at  a  short 
distance,  and  all  my  anger  was  displaced  by  fear  for  her. 
When  we  reached  the  Hall  she  quickly  sought  her  father 
and  approached  him  in  her  old  free  manner,  full  of  confi 
dence  in  her  influence  over  him. 

"  Father,  this  man  " — waving  her  hand  toward  me  —  "  has 
come  to  Haddon  Hall  a-fortune-hunting.  He  has  asked 
me  to  be  his  wife,  and  says  you  wish  me  to  accept 
him." 


8o  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Yes,  Doll,  I  certainly  wish  it  with  all  my  heart,"  re 
turned  Sir  George,  affectionately,  taking  his  daughter's 
hand. 

"  Then  you  need  wish  it  no  longer,  for  I  will  not  marry 
him." 

"What  ?"  demanded  her  father,  springing  to  his  feet. 

"I  will  not.     I  will  not.     I  will  not." 

"  You  will  if  I  command  you  to  do  so,  you  damned  in 
solent  wench,"  answered  Sir  George,  hoarsely.  Dorothy's 
eyes  opened  in  wonder. 

"  Do  not  deceive  yourself,  father,  for  one  moment,"  she 
retorted  contemptuously.  "  He  has  come  here  in  sheep's 
clothing  and  has  adroitly  laid  his  plans  to  convince  you 
that  I  should  marry  him,  but  —  " 

"  He  has  done  nothing  of  the  sort,"  answered  Sir  George, 
growing  more  angry  every  moment,  but  endeavoring  to  be 
calm.  "  Nothing  of  the  sort.  Many  years  ago  I  spoke  to 
him  on  this  subject,  which  is  very  dear  to  my  heart.  The 
project  has  been  dear  to  me  ever  since  you  were  a  child. 
When  I  again  broached  it  to  Malcolm  a  fortnight  or  more 
since  I  feared  from  his  manner  that  he  was  averse  to  the 
scheme.  I  had  tried  several  times  to  speak  to  him  about 
it,  but  he  warded  me  off,  and  when  I  did  speak,  I  feared 
that  he  was  not  inclined  to  it." 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  the  headstrong  girl,  apparently  bent 
upon  destroying  both  of  us.  "  He  pretended  that  he  did 
not  wish  to  marry  me.  He  said  he  wished  me  to  give 
a  sham  consent  for  the  purpose  of  gaining  time  till  we 
might  hit  upon  some  plan  by  which  we  could  change 
your  mind.  He  said  he  had  no  desire  nor  intention  to 
marry  me.  It  was  but  a  poor,  lame  ruse  on  his  part." 

During  Dorothy's  recital  Sir  George  turned  his  face  from 
her  to  me.  When  she  had  finished  speaking,  he  looked  at 
me  for  a  moment  and  said  :  — 

"  Does  my  daughter  speak  the  truth  ?     Did  you  say  —  " 


"  Yes,"  I  promptly  replied,  "  I  have  no  intention  of 
marrying  your  daughter."  Then  hoping  to  place  myself 
before  Sir  George  in  a  better  light,  I  continued  :  "  I  could 
not  accept  the  hand  of  a  lady  against  her  will.  I  told  you 
as  much  when  we  conversed  on  the  subject." 

"  What  ?  "  exclaimed  Sir  George,  furious  with  anger. 
"  You  too  ?  You  whom  I  have  befriended  ?  " 

"  I  told  you,  Sir  George,  I  would  not  marry  Dorothy 
without  her  free  consent.  No  gentleman  of  honor  would 
accept  the  enforced  compliance  of  a  woman." 

"  But  Doll  says  that  you  told  her  you  had  no  intention 
of  marrying  her  even  should  she  consent,"  replied  Sir 
George. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  spoke  those  exact  words,"  I  re 
plied,  "  but  you  may  consider  them  said." 

"  You  damned,  ungrateful,  treacherous  hound  !  "  stormed 
Sir  George.  "  You  listened  to  me  when  I  offered  you  my 
daughter's  hand,  and  you  pretended  to  consent  without 
at  the  time  having  any  intention  of  doing  so." 

"That,  I  suppose,  is  true,  Sir  George,"  said  I,  making 
a  masterful  effort  against  anger.  "  That  is  true,  for  I 
knew  that  Dorothy  would  not  consent ;  and  had  I  been  in 
clined  to  the  marriage,  I  repeat,  I  would  marry  no  woman 
against  her  will.  No  gentleman  would  do  it." 

My  remark  threw  Sir  George  into  a  paroxysm  of  rage. 

"  I  did  it,  you  cur,  you  dog,  you  —  you  traitorous,  un 
grateful —  I  did  it." 

"  Then,  Sir  George,"  said  I,  interrupting  him,  for  I  was 
no  longer  able  to  restrain  my  anger,  "  you  were  a  cowardly 
poltroon." 

"  This  to  me  in  my  house !  "  he  cried,  grasping  a  chair 
with  which  to  strike  me.  Dorothy  came  between  us. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  and  as  much  more  as  you  wish  to 
hear."  I  stood  my  ground,  and  Sir  George  put  down  the 
chair. 


82  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Leave  my  house  at  once,"  he  said  in  a  whisper  of  rage. 
"  If  you  are  on  my  premises  in  one  hour  from  now  I  will 
have  you  flogged  from  my  door  by  the  butcher." 

"What  have  I  done?"  cried  Dorothy.  "What  have  I 
done  ? " 

"  Your  regrets  come  late,  Mistress  Vernon,"  said  I. 

"  She  shall  have  more  to  regret,"  said  Sir  George,  sul 
lenly.  "  Go  to  your  room,  you  brazen,  disobedient  huzzy, 
and  if  you  leave  it  without  my  permission,  by  God,  I  will 
have  you  whipped  till  you  bleed.  I  will  teach  you  to  say 
'  I  won't '  when  I  say  '  you  shall.'  God  curse  my  soul,  if 
I  don't  make  you  repent  this  day !  " 

As  I  left  the  room  Dorothy  was  in  tears,  and  Sir  George 
was  walking  the  floor  in  a  towering  rage.  The  girl  had 
learned  that  I  was  right  in  what  I  had  told  her  concerning 
her  father's  violent  temper. 

I  went  at  once  to  my  room  in  Eagle  Tower  and  collected 
my  few  belongings  in  a  bundle.  Pitifully  small  it  was,  I 
tell  you. 

Where  I  should  go  I  knew  not,  and  where  I  should  re 
main  I  knew  even  less,  for  my  purse  held  only  a  few  shil 
lings —  the  remnant  of  the  money  Queen  Mary  had  sent  to 
me  by  the  hand  of  Sir  Thomas  Douglas.  England  was 
as  unsafe  for  me  as  Scotland ;  but  how  I  might  travel  to 
France  without  money,  and  how  I  might  without  a  pass 
evade  Elizabeth's  officers  who  guarded  every  English  port, 
even  were  I  supplied  with  gold,  were  problems  for  which 
I  had  no  solution. 

There  were  but  two  persons  in  Haddon  Hall  to  whom  I 
cared  to  say  farewell.  They  were  Lady  Madge  and  Will 
Dawson.  The  latter  was  a  Scot,  and  was  attached  to  the 
cause  of  Queen  Mary.  He  and  I  had  become  friends, 
and  on  several  occasions  we  had  talked  confidentially  over 
Mary's  sad  plight. 

When  my  bundle  was    packed,  I   sought    Madge   and 


THE    GOLDEN    HEART  83 

found  her  in  the  gallery  near  the  foot  of  the  great 
staircase.  She  knew  my  step  and  rose  to  greet  me  with 
a  bright  smile. 

"  I  have  come  to  say  good-by  to  you,  Cousin  Madge," 
said  I.  The  smile  vanished  from  her  face. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  leave  Haddon  Hall  ? "  she 
asked. 

"Yes,  and  forever,"  I  responded.  "Sir  George  has 
ordered  me  to  go." 

"  No,  no,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  cannot  believe  it.  I  sup 
posed  that  you  and  my  uncle  were  friends.  What  has 
happened?  Tell  me  if  you  can  —  if  you  wish.  Let  me 
touch  your  hand,"  and  as  she  held  out  her  hands,  I  gladly 
grasped  them. 

I  have  never  seen  anything  more  beautiful  than  Madge 
Stanley's  hands.  They  were  not  small,  but  their  shape, 
from  the  fair,  round  forearm  and  wrist  to  the  ends  of  the 
fingers  was  worthy  of  a  sculptor's  dream.  Beyond  their 
physical  beauty  there  was  an  expression  in  them  which 
would  have  belonged  to  her  eyes  had  she  possessed  the 
sense  of  sight.  The  flood  of  her  vital  energy  had  for  so 
many  years  been  directed  toward  her  hands  as  a  substi 
tute  for  her  lost  eyesight  that  their  sensitiveness  showed 
itself  not  only  in  an  infinite  variety  of  delicate  gestures  and 
movements,  changing  with  her  changing  moods,  but  they 
had  an  expression  of  their  own,  such  as  we  look  for  in 
the  eyes.  I  had  gazed  upon  her  hands  so  often,  and 
had  studied  so  carefully  their  varying  expression,  discerni 
ble  both  to  my  sight  and  to  my  touch,  that  I  could  read 
her  mind  through  them  as  we  read  the  emotions  of  others 
through  the  countenance.  The  "  feel "  of  her  hands,  if  I 
may  use  the  word,  I  can  in  no  way  describe.  Its  effect  on 
me  was  magical.  The  happiest  moments  I  have  ever 
known  were  those  when  I  held  the  fair  blind  girl  by  the 
hand  and  strolled  upon  the  great  terrace  or  followed  the 


84  DOROTHY    VERNON 

babbling  winding  course  of  dear  old  Wye,  and  drank  in 
the  elixir  of  all  that  is  good  and  pure  from  the  cup  of  her 
sweet,  unconscious  influence. 

Madge,  too,  had  found  happiness  in  our  strolling.  She 
had  also  found  health  and  strength,  and,  marvellous  to  say, 
there  had  come  to  her  a  slight  improvement  in  vision. 
She  had  always  been  able  to  distinguish  sunlight  from 
darkness,  but  with  renewed  strength  had  come  the  power 
dimly  to  discern  dark  objects  in  a  strong  light,  and  even 
that  small  change  for  the  better  had  brought  unspeakable 
gladness  to  her  heart.  She  said  she  owed  it  all  to  me. 
A  faint  pink  had  spread  itself  in  her  cheeks  and  a  plump 
ness  had  been  imparted  to  her  form  which  gave  to  her 
ethereal  beauty  a  touch  of  the  material.  Nor  was  this  to 
be  regretted,  for  no  man  can  adequately  make  love  to  a 
woman  who  has  too  much  of  the  angel  in  her.  You  must 
not  think,  however,  that  I  had  been  making  love  to  Madge. 
On  the  contrary,  I  again  say,  the  thought  had  never  en 
tered  my  mind.  Neither  at  that  time  had  I  even  suspected 
that  she  would  listen  to  me  upon  the  great  theme.  I  had 
in  my  self-analysis  assigned  many  reasons  other  than  love 
for  my  tenderness  toward  her ;  but  when  I  was  about  to 
depart,  and  she  impulsively  gave  me  her  hands,  I,  believing 
that  I  was  grasping  them  for  the  last  time,  felt  the  convic 
tion  come  upon  me  that  she  was  dearer  to  me  than  all  else 
in  life. 

"  Do  you  want  to  tell  me  why  my  uncle  has  driven  you 
from  Haddon  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  He  wished  me  to  ask  Dorothy  to  be  my  wife,"  I 
returned. 

"  And  you  ?  "  she  queried. 

"  I  did  so." 

Instantly  the  girl  withdrew  her  hands  from  mine  and 
stepped  back  from  me.  Then  I  had  another  revelation.  I 
knew  what  she  meant  and  felt.  Her  hands  told  me  all, 


THE    GOLDEN    HEART  85 

even  had  there  been  no  expression  in  her  movement  and 
in  her  face. 

"Dorothy  refused,"  I  continued,  "and  her  father  desired 
to  force  her  into  compliance.  I  would  not  be  a  party  to 
the  transaction,  and  Sir  George  ordered  me  to  leave  his 
house." 

After  a  moment  of  painful  silence  Madge  said :  — 

"  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  should  wish  to  marry  Doro 
thy.  She  —  she  must  be  very  beautiful." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  marry  Dorothy,"  said  I.  I  heard  a 
slight  noise  back  of  me,  but  gave  it  no  heed.  "  And  I 
should  not  have  married  her  had  she  consented.  I  knew 
that  Dorothy  would  refuse  me,  therefore  I  promised  Sir 
George  that  I  would  ask  her  to  be  my  wife.  Sir  George 
had  always  been  my  friend,  and  should  I  refuse  to  comply 
with  his  wishes,  I  well  knew  he  would  be  my  enemy.  He 
is  bitterly  angry  against  me  now ;  but  when  he  becomes 
calm,  he  will  see  wherein  he  has  wronged  me.  I  asked 
Dorothy  to  help  me,  but  she  would  not  listen  to  my 
plan." 

"  —  and  now  she  begs  your  forgiveness,"  cried  Dorothy, 
as  she  ran  weeping  to  me,  and  took  my  hand  most  humbly. 

"Dorothy!  Dorothy!"  I  exclaimed. 

"  What  frightful  evil  have  I  brought  upon  you  ? "  said 
she.  "  Where  can  you  go  ?  What  will  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  know  not,"  I  answered.  "  I  shall  probably  go  to  the 
Tower  of  London  when  Queen  Elizabeth's  officers  learn 
of  my  quarrel  with  Sir  George.  But  I  will  try  to  escape 
to  France." 

"  Have  you  money  ?  "  asked  Madge,  tightly  holding  one 
of  my  hands. 

"  A  small  sum,"  I  answered. 

"  How  much  have  you  ?  Tell  me.  Tell  me  how  much 
have  you,"  insisted  Madge,  clinging  to  my  hand  and 
speaking  with  a  force  that  would  brook  no  refusal. 


86  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  A  very  little  sum,  I  am  sorry  to  say ;  only  a  few  shil 
lings,"  I  responded. 

She  quickly  withdrew  her  hand  from  mine  and  began 
to  remove  the  baubles  from  her  ears  and  the  brooch  from 
her  throat.  Then  she  nervously  stripped  the  rings  from 
her  fingers  and  held  out  the  little  handful  of  jewels  toward 
me,  groping  for  my  hands. 

"  Take  these,  Malcolm.  Take  these,  and  wait  here  till 
I  return."  She  turned  toward  the  staircase,  but  in  her 
confusion  she  missed  it,  and  before  I  could  reach  her,  she 
struck  against  the  great  newel  post. 

"God  pity  me,"  she  said,  as  I  took  her  hand.  "I  wish 
I  were  dead.  Please  lead  me  to  the  staircase,  Cousin  Mal 
colm.  Thank  you." 

She  was  weeping  gently  when  she  started  up  the  steps, 
and  I  knew  that  she  was  going  to  fetch  me  her  little 
treasure  of  gold. 

Madge  held  up  the  skirt  of  her  gown  with  one  hand 
while  she  grasped  the  banister  with  the  other.  She  was 
halfway  up  when  Dorothy,  whose  generous  impulses 
needed  only  to  be  prompted,  ran  nimbly  and  was  about 
to  pass  her  on  the  staircase  when  Madge  grasped  her 
gown. 

"  Please  don't,  Dorothy.  Please  do  not.  I  beg  you,  do 
not  forestall  me.  Let  me  do  this.  Let  me.  You  have 
all  else  to  make  you  happy.  Don't  take  this  from  me 
only  because  you  can  see  and  can  walk  faster  than  I." 

Dorothy  did  not  stop,  but  hurried  past  her.  Madge 
sank  upon  the  steps  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
Then  she  came  gropingly  back  to  me  just  as  Dorothy 
returned. 

"  Take  these,  Cousin  Malcolm,"  cried  Dorothy.  "  Here 
are  a  few  stones  of  great  value.  They  belonged  to  my 
mother." 

Madge  was  sitting  dejectedly  upon  the  lowest  step  of 


THE    GOLDEN    HEART  87 

the  staircase.  Dorothy  held  her  jewel-box  toward  me,  and 
in  the  midst  of  the  diamonds  and  gold  I  saw  the  heart 
John  Manners  had  given  her.  I  did  not  take  the  box. 

"  Do  you  offer  me  this,  too  —  even  this  ?  "  I  said,  lifting 
the  heart  from  the  box  by  its  chain.  —  "Yes,  yes,"  cried 
Dorothy,  "  even  that,  gladly,  gladly."  I  replaced  it  in  the 
box. 

Then  spoke  Madge,  while  she  tried  to  check  the  falling 
tears  :  — 

"  Dorothy,  you  are  a  cruel,  selfish  girl." 

"  Oh,  Madge,"  cried  Dorothy,  stepping  to  her  side  and 
taking  her  hand.  "  How  can  you  speak  so  unkindly 
to  me?" 

"  You  have  everything  good,"  interrupted  Madge.  "  You 
have  beauty,  wealth,  eyesight,  and  yet  you  would  not  leave 
to  me  the  joy  of  helping  him.  I  could  not  see,  and  you 
hurried  past  me  that  you  might  be  first  to  give  him  the 
help  of  which  I  was  the  first  to  think." 

Dorothy  was  surprised  at  the  outburst  from  Madge,  and 
kneeled  by  her  side. 

"We  may  both  help  Cousin  Malcolm,"  she  said. 

"  No,  no,"  responded  Madge,  angrily.  "  Your  jewels  are 
more  than  enough.  He  would  have  no  need  of  my  poor 
offering." 

I  took  Madge's  hand  and  said,  "  I  shall  accept  help 
from  no  one  but  you,  Madge  ;  from  no  one  but  you." 

"  I  will  go  to  our  rooms  for  your  box,"  said  Dorothy,  who 
had  begun  to  see  the  trouble.  "  I  will  fetch  it  for  you." 

"  No,  I  will  fetch  it,"  answered  Madge.  She  arose,  and 
I  led  her  to  the  foot  of  the  staircase.  When  she  returned 
she  held  in  her  hands  a  purse  and  a  little  box  of  jewels. 
These  she  offered  to  me,  but  I  took  only  the  purse,  say 
ing  :  "  I  accept  the  purse.  It  contains  more  money  than  I 
shall  need.  From  its  weight  I  should  say  there  are  twenty 
gold  pounds  sterling." 


88  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Twenty-five,"  answered  Madge.  "  I  have  saved  them, 
believing  that  the  time  might  come  when  they  would  be  of 
great  use  to  me.  I  did  not  know  the  joy  I  was  saving  for 
myself." 

Tears  came  to  my  eyes,  and  Dorothy  wept  silently. 

"Will  you  not  take  the  jewels  also  ?  "  asked  Madge. 

"No,"  I  responded;  "the  purse  will  more  than  pay 
my  expenses  to  France,  where  I  have  wealthy  relatives. 
There  I  may  have  my  mother's  estate  for  the  asking,  and 
I  can  repay  you  the  gold.  I  can  never  repay  your 
kindness." 

"  I  hope  you  will  never  offer  to  repay  the  gold,"  said 
Madge. 

"  I  will  not,"  I  gladly  answered. 

"  As  to  the  kindness,"  she  said,  "  you  have  paid  me  in 
advance  for  that  many,  many  times  over." 

I  then  said  farewell,  promising  to  send  letters  telling  of 
my  fortune.  As  I  was  leaving  I  bent  forward  and  kissed 
Madge  upon  the  forehead,  while  she  gently  pressed  my 
hand,  but  did  not  speak  a  word. 

"  Cousin  Malcolm,"  said  Dorothy,  who  held  my  other 
hand,  "  you  are  a  strong,  gentle,  noble  man,  and  I  want 
you  to  say  that  you  forgive  me." 

"  I  do  forgive  you,  Dorothy,  from  my  heart.  I  could 
not  blame  you  if  I  wished  to  do  so,  for  you  did  not  know 
what  you  were  doing." 

"  Not  to  know  is  sometimes  the  greatest  of  sins,"  an 
swered  Dorothy.  I  bent  forward  to  kiss  her  cheek  in 
token  of  my  full  forgiveness,  but  she  gave  me  her  lips  and 
said :  "  I  shall  never  again  be  guilty  of  not  knowing  that 
you  are  good  and  true  and  noble,  Cousin  Malcolm,  and  I 
shall  never  again  doubt  your  wisdom  or  your  good  faith 
when  you  speak  to  me."  She  did  doubt  me  afterward,  but 
I  fear  her  doubt  was  with  good  cause.  I  shall  tell  you  of 
it  in  the  proper  place. 


THE    GOLDEN    HEART  89 

Then  I  forced  myself  to  leave  my  fair  friends  and  went 
to  the  gateway  under  Eagle  Tower,  where  I  found  Will 
Dawson  waiting  for  me  with  my  horse. 

"  Sir  George  ordered  me  to  bring  your  horse,"  said 
Will.  "  He  seemed  much  excited.  Has  anything  dis 
agreeable  happened  ?  Are  you  leaving  us  ?  I  see  you 
wear  your  steel  cap  and  breastplate  and  are  carrying  your 
bundle." 

"  Yes,  Will,  your  master  has  quarrelled  with  me  and  I 
must  leave  his  house." 

"  But  where  do  you  go,  Sir  Malcolm  ?  You  remember 
that  of  which  we  talked  ?  In  England  no  place  but  Had- 
don  Hall  will  be  safe  for  you,  and  the  ports  are  so  closely 
guarded  that  you  will  certainly  be  arrested  if  you  try  to 
sail  for  France." 

"  I  know  all  that  only  too  well,  Will.  But  I  must  go, 
and  I  will  try  to  escape  to  France.  If  you  wish  to  com 
municate  with  me,  I  may  be  found  by  addressing  a  letter 
in  care  of  the  Due  de  Guise." 

"  If  I  can  ever  be  of  help  to  you,"  said  Will,  "  personally, 
or  in  that  other  matter,  — Queen  Mary,  you  understand,  — 
you  have  only  to  call  on  me." 

"  I  thank  you,  Will,"  I  returned,  "  I  shall  probably  ac 
cept  your  kind  offer  sooner  than  you  anticipate.  Do  you 
know  Jennie  Faxton,  the  ferrier's  daughter  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  he  responded. 

"  I  believe  she  may  be  trusted,"  I  said. 

"  Indeed,  I  believe  she  is  true  as  any  steel  in  her  father's 
shop,"  Will  responded. 

"  Good-by,  Will,  you  may  hear  from  me  soon." 

I  mounted  and  rode  back  of  the  terrace,  taking  my  way 
along  the  Wye  toward  Rowsley.  When  I  turned  and 
looked  back,  I  saw  Dorothy  standing  upon  the  terrace. 
By  her  side,  dressed  in  white,  stood  Madge.  Her  hand 
was  covering  her  eyes.  A  step  or  two  below  them  on  the 


90  DOROTHY   VERNON 

terrace  staircase  stood  Will  Dawson.  They  were  three 
stanch  friends,  although  one  of  them  had  brought  my 
troubles  upon  me.  After  all,  I  was  leaving  Haddon  Hall 
well  garrisoned.  My  heart  also  was  well  garrisoned  with 
a  faithful  troop  of  pain.  But  I  shall  write  no  more  of  that 
time.  It  was  too  full  of  bitterness. 


CHAPTER  V 
MINE  ENEMY'S  ROOF-TREE 

1RODE  down  the  Wye  to  Rowsley,  and  by  the  will  of 
my  horse  rather  than  by  any  intention  of  my  own 
took  the  road  up  through  Lathkil  Dale.  I  had  deter 
mined  if  possible  to  reach  the  city  of  Chester,  and  thence 
to  ride  down  into  Wales,  hoping  to  find  on  the  rough  Welsh 
coast  a  fishing  boat  or  a  smuggler's  craft  that  would  carry 
me  to  France.  In  truth,  I  cared  little  whether  I  went  to 
the  Tower  or  to  France,  since  in  either  case  I  felt  that  I 
had  looked  my  last  upon  Haddon  Hall,  and  had  spoken 
farewell  to  the  only  person  in  all  the  world  for  whom  I  really 
cared.  My  ride  from  Haddon  gave  me  time  for  deliberate 
thought,  and  I  fully  agreed  with  myself  upon  two  propo 
sitions.  First,  I  became  thoroughly  conscious  of  my  real 
feeling  toward  Madge,  and  secondly,  I  was  convinced  that 
her  kindness  and  her  peculiar  attitude  toward  me  when  I 
parted  from  her  were  but  the  promptings  of  a  tender 
heart  stirred  by  pity  for  my  unfortunate  situation,  rather 
than  what  I  thought  when  I  said  farewell  to  her.  The 
sweet  Wye  and  the  beautiful  Lathkil  whispered  to  me  as 
I  rode  beside  their  banks,  but  in  their  murmurings  I  heard 
only  the  music  of  her  voice.  The  sun  shone  brightly,  but 
its  blessed  light  only  served  to  remind  me  of  the  beautiful 
girl  whom  I  had  left  in  darkness.  The  light  were  worth 
less  to  me  if  I  could  not  share  it  with  her.  What  a  moon 
ing  lout  was  I  1 

91 


92  DOROTHY    VERNON 

All  my  life  I  had  been  a  philosopher,  and  as  I  rode  from 
Haddon,  beneath  all  my  gloominess  there  ran  a  current  of 
amusement  which  brought  to  my  lips  an  ill-formed,  half- 
born  laugh  when  I  thought  of  the  plight  and  condition  in 
which  I,  by  candid  self-communion,  found  myself.  Five 
years  before  that  time  I  had  left  France,  and  had  cast 
behind  me  all  the  fair  possibilities  for  noble  achievement 
which  were  offered  to  me  in  that  land,  that  I  might  follow 
the  fortunes  of  a  woman  whom  I  thought  I  loved.  Before 
my  exile  from  her  side  I  had  begun  to  fear  that  my  idol 
was  but  a  thing  of  stone ;  and  now  that  I  had  learned  to 
know  myself,  and  to  see  her  as  she  really  was,  I  realized 
that  I  had  been  worshipping  naught  but  clay  for  lo,  these 
many  years.  There  was  only  this  consolation  in  the 
thought  for  me :  every  man  at  some  time  in  his  life  is  a 
fool  —  made  such  by  a  woman.  It  is  given  to  but  few 
men  to  have  for  their  fool-maker  the  rightful  queen  of 
three  kingdoms.  All  that  was  left  to  me  of  my  life  of 
devotion  was  a  shame-faced  pride  in  the  quality  of  my  fool- 
maker.  "  Then,"  thought  I,  "  I  have  at  last  turned  to  be 
my  own  fool-maker."  But  I  suppose  it  had  been  written 
in  the  book  of  fate  that  I  should  ride  from  Haddon  a  love 
lorn  youth  of  thirty-five,  and  I  certainly  was  fulfilling  my 
destiny  to  the  letter. 

I  continued  to  ride  up  the  Lathkil  until  I  came  to  a  fork 
in  the  road.  One  branch  led  to  the  northwest,  the  other 
toward  the  southwest.  I  was  at  a  loss  which  direction  to 
take,  and  I  left  the  choice  to  my  horse,  in  whose  wisdom 
and  judgment  I  had  more  confidence  than  in  my  own. 
My  horse,  refusing  the  responsibility,  stopped.  So  there 
we  stood  like  an  equestrian  statue  arguing  with  itself  until 
I  saw  a  horseman  riding  toward  me  from  the  direction  of 
Overhaddon.  When  he  approached  I  recognized  Sir  John 
Manners.  He  looked  as  woebegone  as  I  felt,  and  I  could 
not  help  laughing  at  the  pair  of  us,  for  I  knew  that  his 


MINE    ENEMY'S    ROOF-TREE         93 

trouble  was  akin  to  mine.  The  pain  of  love  is  ludicrous  to 
all  save  those  who  feel  it.  Even  to  them  it  is  laughable 
in  others.  A  love-full  heart  has  no  room  for  that  sort  of 
charity  which  pities  for  kinship's  sake. 

"  What  is  the  trouble  with  you,  Sir  John,  that  you  look 
so  downcast?"  said  I,  offering  my  hand. 

"  Ah,"  he  answered,  forcing  a  poor  look  of  cheerfulness 
into  his  face,  "  Sir  Malcolm,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Do  I 
look  downcast  ? " 

"  As  forlorn  as  a  lover  who  has  missed  seeing  his  sweet 
heart,"  I  responded,  guessing  the  cause  of  Sir  John's 
despondency. 

"  I  have  no  sweetheart,  therefore  missing  her  could  not 
have  made  me  downcast,"  he  replied. 

"  So  you  really  did  miss  her  ?  "  I  queried.  "  She  was 
detained  at  Haddon  Hall,  Sir  John,  to  bid  me  farewell." 

"  I  do  not  understand  —  "  began  Sir  John,  growing  cold 
in  his  bearing. 

"  I  understand  quite  well,"  I  answered.  "  Dorothy  told 
me  all  to-day.  You  need  keep  nothing  from  me.  The 
golden  heart  brought  her  into  trouble,  and  made  mischief 
for  me  of  which  I  cannot  see  the  end.  I  will  tell  you  the 
story  while  we  ride.  I  am  seeking  my  way  to  Chester,  that 
I  may,  if  possible,  sail  for  France.  This  fork  in  the  road 
has  brought  me  to  a  standstill,  and  my  horse  refuses  to  decide 
which  route  we  shall  take.  Perhaps  you  will  direct  us." 

"Gladly.  The  road  to  the  southwest  —  the  one  I  shall 
take  —  is  the  most  direct  route  to  Chester.  But  tell  me,  how 
comes  it  that  you  are  leaving  Haddon  Hall?  I  thought 
you  had  gone  there  to  marry  —  "  He  stopped  speaking, 
and  a  smile  stole  into  his  eyes. 

"  Let  us  ride  forward  together,  and  I  will  tell  you  about 
it,"  said  I. 

While  we  travelled  I  told  Sir  John  the  circumstances  of 
my  departure  from  Haddon  Hall,  concealing  nothing  save 


94  DOROTHY    VERNON 

that  which  touched  Madge  Stanley.  I  then  spoke  of  my 
dangerous  position  in  England,  and  told  him  of  my  great 
desire  to  reach  my  mother's  people  in  France. 

"  You  will  find  difficulty  and  danger  in  escaping  to  France 
at  this  time,"  said  Sir  John,  "  the  guard  at  the  ports  is 
very  strong  and  strict,  and  your  greatest  risk  will  be  at  the 
moment  when  you  try  to  embark  without  a  passport." 

"That  is  true,"  I  responded;  "but  I  know  of  nothing 
else  that  I  can  do." 

"  Come  with  me  to  Rutland  Castle,"  said  Sir  John. 
"  You  may  there  find  refuge  until  such  time  as  you  can  go 
to  France.  I  will  gladly  furnish  you  money  which  you 
may  repay  at  your  pleasure,  and  I  may  soon  be  able  to 
procure  a  passport  for  you." 

I  thanked  him,  but  said  I  did  not  see  my  way  clear  to 
accept  his  kind  offer. 

"  You  are  unknown  in  the  neighborhood  of  Rutland," 
he  continued,  "  and  you  may  easily  remain  incognito." 

Although  his  offer  was  greatly  to  my  liking,  I  suggested 
several  objections,  chief  among  which  was  the  distaste 
Lord  Rutland  might  feel  toward  one  of  my  name.  I 
would  not,  of  course,  consent  that  my  identity  should  be 
concealed  from  him.  But  to  be  brief  —  an  almost  impos 
sible  achievement  for  me,  it  seems  —  Sir  John  assured  me 
of  his  father's  welcome,  and  it  was  arranged  between  us 
that  I  should  take  my  baptismal  name,  Francois  de  Lor 
raine,  and  passing  for  a  French  gentleman  on  a  visit  to 
England,  should  go  to  Rutland  with  my  friend.  So  it 
happened  through  the  strange  workings  of  fate  that  I 
found  help  and  refuge  under  my  enemy's  roof-tree. 

Kind  old  Lord  Rutland  welcomed  me,  as  his  son  had 
foretold,  and  I  was  convinced  ere  I  had  passed  an  hour 
under  his  roof  that  the  feud  between  him  and  Sir  George 
was  of  the  latter's  brewing. 

The  happenings  in  Haddon  Hall  while  I  lived  at  Rutland 


MINE    ENEMY'S    ROOF-TREE        95 

I  knew,  of  course,  only  by  the  mouth  of  others;  but  for  con 
venience  in  telling  I  shall  speak  of  them  as  if  I  had  seen  and 
heard  all  that  took  place.  I  may  now  say  once  for  all  that 
I  shall  take  that  liberty  throughout  this  entire  history. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  after  my  departure  from 
Haddon,  Jennie  Faxton  went  to  visit  Dorothy  and  gave 
her  a  piece  of  information,  small  in  itself,  but  large  in  its 
effect  upon  that  ardent  young  lady.  Will  Fletcher,  the 
arrow-maker  at  Overhaddon,  had  observed  Dorothy's 
movements  in  connection  with  Manners ;  and  although 
Fletcher  did  not  know  who  Sir  John  was,  that  fact  added 
to  his  curiosity  and  righteous  indignation. 

"  It  do  be  right  that  some  one  should  tell  the  King  of 
the  Peak  as  how  his  daughter  is  carrying  on  with  a  young 
man  who  does  come  here  every  day  or  two  to  meet  her, 
and  I  do  intend  to  tell  Sir  George  if  she  put  not  a  stop  to 
it,"  said  Fletcher  to  some  of  his  gossips  in  Yulegrave 
churchyard  one  Sunday  afternoon. 

Dorothy  notified  John,  Jennie  being  the  messenger,  of 
Will's  observations,  visual  and  verbal,  and  designated 
another  place  for  meeting,  —  the  gate  east  of  Bowling 
Green  Hill.  This  gate  was  part  of  a  wall  on  the  east  side 
of  the  Haddon  estates  adjoining  the  lands  of  the  house  of 
Devonshire  which  lay  to  the  eastward.  It  was  a  secluded 
spot  in  the  heart  of  the  forest  half  a  mile  distant  from 
Haddon  Hall. 

Sir  George,  for  a  fortnight  or  more  after  my  disappear 
ance,  enforced  his  decree  of  imprisonment  against  Doro 
thy,  and  she,  being  unable  to  leave  the  Hall,  could  not  go 
to  Bowling  Green  Gate  to  meet  Sir  John.  Before  I  had 
learned  of  the  new  trysting-place  John  had  ridden  thither 
several  evenings  to  meet  Dorothy,  but  had  found  only 
Jennie  bearing  her  mistress's  excuses.  I  supposed  his 
journeyings  had  been  to  Overhaddon ;  but  I  did  not  press 
his  confidence,  nor  did  he  give  it. 


96  DOROTHY    VERNON 

Sir  George's  treatment  of  Dorothy  had  taught  her  that 
the  citadel  of  her  father's  wrath  could  be  stormed  only 
by  gentleness,  and  an  opportunity  was  soon  presented  in 
which  she  used  that  effective  engine  of  feminine  warfare 
to  her  great  advantage. 

As  I  have  told  you,  Sir  George  was  very  rich.  No 
man,  either  noble  or  gentle,  in  Derbyshire  or  in  any  of 
the  adjoining  counties,  possessed  so  great  an  estate  or  so 
beautiful  a  hall  as  did  he.  In  France  we  would  have 
called  Haddon  Hall  a  grand  chateau. 

Sir  George's  deceased  wife  had  been  a  sister  to  the  Earl 
of  Derby,  who  lived  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  now  writing. 
The  earl  had  a  son,  James,  who  was  heir  to  the  title  and 
to  the  estates  of  his  father.  The  son  was  a  dissipated, 
rustic  clown  —  almost  a  simpleton.  He  had  the  vulgarity 
of  a  stable  boy  and  the  vices  of  a  courtier.  His  associates 
were  chosen  from  the  ranks  of  gamesters,  ruffians,  and 
tavern  maids.  Still,  he  was  a  scion  of  one  of  the  greatest 
families  of  England's  nobility. 

After  Sir  George's  trouble  with  Dorothy,  growing  out 
of  his  desire  that  I  should  wed  her,  the  King  of  the  Peak 
had  begun  to  feel  that  in  his  beautiful  daughter  he  had 
upon  his  hands  a  commodity  that  might  at  any  time  cause 
him  trouble.  He  therefore  determined  to  marry  her  to 
some  eligible  gentleman  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  to  place 
the  heavy  responsibility  of  managing  her  in  the  hands  of  a 
husband.  The  stubborn  violence  of  Sir  George's  nature, 
the  rough  side  of  which  had  never  before  been  shown  to 
Dorothy,  in  her  became  adroit  wilfulness  of  a  quality  that  no 
masculine  mind  may  compass.  But  her  life  had  been  so 
entirely  undisturbed  by  opposing  influences  that  her  father, 
firm  in  the  belief  that  no  one  in  his  household  would  dare  to 
thwart  his  will,  had  remained  in  dangerous  ignorance  of  the 
latent  trouble  which  pervaded  his  daughter  from  the  soles 
of  her  shapely  feet  to  the  top  of  her  glory-crowned  head. 


MINE    ENEMY'S    ROOF-TREE        97 

Sir  George,  in  casting  about  for  a  son-in-law,  had  hit 
upon  the  heir  to  the  house  of  Derby  as  a  suitable  match 
for  his  child,  and  had  entered  into  an  alliance  offensive 
and  defensive  with  the  earl  against  the  common  enemy, 
Dorothy.  The  two  fathers  had  partly  agreed  that  the 
heir  to  Derby  should  wed  the  heiress  of  Haddon.  The 
heir,  although  he  had  never  seen  his  cousin  except  when 
she  was  a  plain,  unattractive  girl,  was  entirely  willing  for 
the  match,  but  the  heiress  —  well,  she  had  not  been  con 
sulted,  and  everybody  connected  with  the  affair  instinc 
tively  knew  there  would  be  trouble  in  that  quarter.  Sir 
George,  however,  had  determined  that  Dorothy  should 
do  her  part  in  case  the  contract  of  marriage  should  be 
agreed  upon  between  the  heads  of  the  houses.  He  had 
fully  resolved  to  assert  the  majesty  of  the  law  vested  in 
him  as  a  father  and  to  compel  Dorothy  to  do  his  bidding, 
if  there  were  efficacy  in  force  and  chastisement.  At  the 
time  when  Sir  George  spoke  to  Dorothy  about  the  Derby 
marriage,  she  had  been  a  prisoner  for  a  fortnight  or  more, 
and  had  learned  that  her  only  hope  against  her  father  lay 
in  cunning.  So  she  wept,  and  begged  for  time  in  which 
to  consider  the  answer  she  would  give  to  Lord  Derby's 
request.  She  begged  for  two  months,  or  even  one  month, 
in  which  to  bring  herself  to  accede  to  her  father's  com 
mands. 

"  You  have  always  been  so  kind  and  good  to  me,  father, 
that  I  shall  try  to  obey  if  you  and  the  earl  eventually 
agree  upon  terms,"  she  said  tearfully,  having  no  intention 
whatever  of  trying  to  do  anything  but  disobey. 

"Try!"  stormed  Sir  George.  "  Try  to  obey  me!  By 
God,  girl,  I  say  you  shall  obey !  " 

"  Oh,  father,  I  am  so  young.  I  have  not  seen  my  cousin 
for  years.  I  do  not  want  to  leave  you,  and  I  have  never 
thought  twice  of  any  man.  Do  not  drive  me  from  you." 

Sir  George,  eager  to  crush  in  the  outset  any  disposition 


98  DOROTHY    VERNON 

to  oppose  his  will,  grew  violent  and  threatened  his  daughter 
with  dire  punishment  if  she  were  not  docile  and  obedient. 

Then  said  rare  Dorothy  :  — 

"  It  would  indeed  be  a  great  match."  Greater  than  ever 
will  happen,  she  thought.  "I  should  be  a  countess."  She 
strutted  across  the  room  with  head  up  and  with  dilating 
nostrils.  The  truth  was,  she  desired  to  gain  her  liberty 
once  more  that  she  might  go  to  John,  and  was  ready  to 
promise  anything  to  achieve  that  end.  "  What  sort  of 
a  countess  would  I  make,  father?" 

"A  glorious  countess,  Doll,  a  glorious  countess,"  said 
her  father,  laughing.  "  You  are  a  good  girl  to  obey  me  so 
readily." 

"  Oh,  but  I  have  not  obeyed  you  yet,"  returned  Dorothy, 
fearing  that  her  father  might  be  suspicious  of  a  too  ready 
acquiescence. 

"  But  you  will  obey  me,"  answered  Sir  George,  half  in 
command  and  half  in  entreaty. 

"  There  are  not  many  girls  who  would  refuse  the  coronet 
of  a  countess."  She  then  seated  herself  upon  her  father's 
knee  and  kissed  him,  while  Sir  George  laughed  softly  over 
his  easy  victory. 

Blessed  is  the  man  who  does  not  know  when  he  is 
beaten. 

Seeing  her  father's  kindly  humor,  Dorothy  said  :  — 

"  Father,  do  you  still  wish  me  to  remain  a  prisoner  in  my 
rooms  ? " 

"  If  you  promise  to  be  a  good,  obedient  daughter," 
returned  Sir  George,  "you  shall  have  your  liberty." 

"  I  have  always  been  that,  father,  and  I  am  too  old  to 
learn  otherwise,"  answered  this  girl,  whose  father  had 
taught  her  deception  by  his  violence.  You  may  drive 
men,  but  you  cannot  drive  any  woman  who  is  worth  pos 
sessing.  You  may  for  a  time  think  you  drive  her,  but  in 
the  end  she  will  have  her  way. 


MINE    ENEMY'S    ROOF-TREE         99 

Dorothy's  first  act  of  obedience  after  regaining  liberty 
was  to  send  a  letter  to  Manners  by  the  hand  of  Jennie 
Faxton. 

John  received  the  letter  in  the  evening,  and  all  next  day 
he  passed  the  time  whistling,  singing,  and  looking  now 
and  again  at  his  horologue.  He  walked  about  the  castle 
like  a  happy  wolf  in  a  pen.  He  did  not  tell  me  there 
was  a  project  on  foot,  with  Dorothy  as  the  objective, 
but  I  knew  it,  and  waited  with  some  impatience  for  the 
outcome. 

Long  before  the  appointed  time,  which  was  sunset,  John 
galloped  forth  for  Bowling  Green  Gate  with  joy  and  antici 
pation  in  his  heart  and  pain  in  his  conscience.  As  he  rode, 
he  resolved  again  and  again  that  the  interview  toward  which 
he  was  hastening  should  be  the  last  he  would  have  with 
Dorothy.  But  when  he  pictured  the  girl  to  himself,  and 
thought  upon  her  marvellous  beauty  and  infinite  winsome- 
ness,  his  conscience  was  drowned  in  his  longing,  and  he 
resolved  that  he  would  postpone  resolving  until  the  morrow. 

John  hitched  his  horse  near  the  gate  and  stood  looking 
between  the  massive  iron  bars  toward  Haddon  Hall,  whose 
turrets  could  be  seen  through  the  leafless  boughs  of  the 
trees.  The  sun  was  sinking  perilously  low,  thought  John, 
and  with  each  moment  his  heart  also  sank,  while  his  good 
resolutions  showed  the  flimsy  fibre  of  their  fabric  and  were 
rent  asunder  by  the  fear  that  she  might  not  come.  As  the 
moments  dragged  on  and  she  did  not  come,  a  hundred 
alarms  tormented  him.  First  among  these  was  a  dread 
that  she  might  have  made  resolves  such  as  had  sprung  up 
so  plenteously  in  him,  and  that  she  might  have  been  strong 
enough  to  act  upon  them  and  to  remain  at  home.  But  he 
was  mistaken  in  the  girl.  Such  resolutions  as  he  had  been 
making  and  breaking  had  never  come  to  her  at  all.  The 
difference  between  the  man  and  the  woman  was  this  :  he 
resolved  in  his  mind  not  to  see  her  and  failed  in  keeping  to 


ioo  DOROTHY    VERNON 

his  resolution  ;  while  she  resolved  in  her  heart  to  see  him 
—  resolved  that  nothing  in  heaven  or  earth  or  the  other 
place  could  keep  her  from  seeing  him,  and  succeeded  in 
carrying  out  her  resolution.  The  intuitive  resolve,  the  one 
that  does  not  know  it  is  a  resolution,  is  the  sort  before 
which  obstacles  fall  like  corn  before  the  sickle. 

After  John  had  waited  a  weary  time,  the  form  of  the  girl 
appeared  above  the  crest  of  the  hill.  She  was  holding  up 
the  skirt  of  her  gown,  and  glided  over  the  earth  so  rapidly 
that  she  appeared  to  be  running.  Beat !  beat !  oh,  heart 
of  John,  if  there  is  aught  in  womanhood  to  make  you 
throb ;  if  there  is  aught  in  infinite  grace  and  winsomeness ; 
if  there  is  aught  in  perfect  harmony  of  color  and  form  and 
movement ;  if  there  is  aught  of  beauty,  in  God's  power  to 
create  that  can  set  you  pulsing,  beat !  for  the  fairest  crea 
ture  of  His  hand  is  hastening  to  greet  you.  The  wind 
had  dishevelled  her  hair  and  it  was  blowing  in  fluffy  curls 
of  golden  red  about  her  face.  Her  cheeks  were  slightly 
flushed  with  joy  and  exercise,  her  red  lips  were  parted,  and 
her  eyes  —  but  I  am  wasting  words.  As  for  John's  heart 
it  almost  smothered  him  with  its  beating.  He  had  never 
before  supposed  that  he  could  experience  such  violent 
throbbing  within  his  breast  and  live.  But  at  last  she  was 
at  the  gate,  in  all  her  exquisite  beauty  and  winsomeness, 
and  something  must  be  done  to  make  the  heart  conform 
to  the  usages  of  good  society.  She,  too,  was  in  trouble 
with  her  breathing,  but  John  thought  that  her  trouble  was 
owing  to  exertion.  However  that  may  have  been,  nothing 
in  heaven  or  earth  was  ever  so  beautiful,  so  radiant,  so 
graceful,  or  so  fair  as  this  girl  who  had  come  to  give 
herself  to  John.  It  seems  that  I  cannot  take  myself  away 
from  the  attractive  theme. 

"  Ah,  Sir  John,  you  did  come,"  said  the  girl,  joyously. 

"  Yes,"  John  succeeded  in  replying,  after  an  effort,  "  and 
you  —  I  thank  you,  gracious  lady,  for  coming.  I  do  not 


MINE    ENEMY'S    ROOF-TREE       101 

deserve  — "  the  heart  again  asserted  itself,  and  Dorothy 
stood  by  the  gate  with  downcast  eyes,  waiting  to  learn 
what  it  was  that  John  did  not  deserve.  She  thought  he 
deserved  everything  good. 

"  I  fear  I  have  caused  you  fatigue,"  said  John,  again 
thinking,  and  with  good  reason,  that  he  was  a  fool. 

The  English  language,  which  he  had  always  supposed 
to  be  his  mother  tongue,  had  deserted  him  as  if  it  were  his 
step-mother.  After  all,  the  difficulty,  as  John  subsequently 
said,  was  that  Dorothy's  beauty  had  deprived  him  of  the 
power  to  think.  He  could  only  see.  He  was  entirely  dis 
organized  by  a  girl  whom  he  could  have  carried  away 
in  his  arms. 

"  I  feel  no  fatigue,"  replied  Dorothy. 

"  I  feared  that  in  climbing  the  hill  you  had  lost  your 
breath,"  answered  disorganized  John. 

"  So  I  did,"  she  returned.  Then  she  gave  a  great  sigh 
and  said,  "  Now  I  am  all  right  again." 

All  right?  So  is  the  morning  sun,  so  is  the  arching 
rainbow,  and  so  are  the  flitting  lights  of  the  north  in  mid 
winter.  All  are  "  all  right "  because  God  made  them,  as 
He  made  Dorothy,  perfect,  each  after  its  kind. 

A  long,  uneasy  pause  ensued.  Dorothy  felt  the  em 
barrassing  silence  less  than  John,  and  could  have  helped 
him  greatly  had  she  wished  to  do  so.  But  she  had  made 
the  advances  at  their  former  meetings,  and  as  she  had  told 
me,  she  "  had  done  a  great  deal  more  than  her  part  in  going 
to  meet  him."  Therefore  she  determined  that  he  should 
do  his  own  wooing  thenceforward.  She  had  graciously 
given  him  all  the  opportunity  he  had  any  right  to  ask. 

While  journeying  to  Bowling  Green  Gate,  John  had  for 
mulated  many  true  and  beautiful  sentiments  of  a  personal 
nature  which  he  intended  expressing  to  Dorothy  ;  but  when 
the  opportunity  came  for  him  to  speak,  the  weather,  his 
horse,  Dorothy's  mare  Dolcy,  the  queens  of  England  and 


102  DOROTHY    VERNON 

Scotland  were  the  only  subjects  on  which  he  could  induce 
his  tongue  to  perform,  even  moderately  well. 

Dorothy  listened  attentively  while  John  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  gate  discoursed  limpingly  on  the  above-named 
themes ;  and  although  in  former  interviews  she  had  found 
those  topics  quite  interesting,  upon  that  occasion  she  had 
come  to  Bowling  Green  Gate  to  listen  to  something  else 
and  was  piqued  not  to  hear  it.  After  ten  or  fifteen  minutes 
she  said  demurely  :  — 

"  I  may  not  remain  here  longer.  I  shall  be  missed  at 
the  Hall.  I  regained  my  liberty  but  yesterday,  and  father 
will  be  suspicious  of  me  during  the  next  few  days.  I  must 
be  watchful  and  must  have  a  care  of  my  behavior." 

John  summoned  his  wits  and  might  have  spoken  his 
mind  freely  had  he  not  feared  to  say  too  much.  Despite 
Dorothy's  witchery,  honor,  conscience,  and  prudence  still 
bore  weight  with  him,  and  they  all  dictated  that  he  should 
cling  to  the  shreds  of  his  resolution  and  not  allow  matters 
to  go  too  far  between  him  and  this  fascinating  girl.  He 
was  much  in  love  with  her;  but  Dorothy  had  reached  at  a 
bound  a  height  to  which  he  was  still  climbing.  Soon  John, 
also,  was  to  reach  the  pinnacle  whence  honor,  conscience, 
and  prudence  were  to  be  banished. 

"  I  fear  I  must  now  leave  you,"  said  Dorothy,  as  dark 
ness  began  to  gather. 

"  I  hope  I  may  soon  see  you  again,"  said  John. 

"Sometime  I  will  see  you  if  —  if  I  can,"  she  answered 
with  downcast  eyes.  "  It  is  seldom  I  can  leave  the  Hall 
alone,  but  I  shall  try  to  come  here  at  sunset  some  future 
day."  John's  silence  upon  a  certain  theme  had  given 
offence. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  greatly  I  thank  you,"  cried  John. 

"  I  will  say  adieu,"  said  Dorothy,  as  she  offered  him  her 
hand  through  the  bars  of  the  gate.  John  raised  the  hand 
gallantly  to  his  lips,  and  when  she  had  withdrawn  it  there 


MINE    ENEMY'S    ROOF-TREE       103 

seemed  no  reason  for  her  to  remain.  But  she  stood  for  a 
moment  hesitatingly.  Then  she  stooped  to  reach  into  her 
pocket  while  she  daintily  lifted  the  skirt  of  her  gown  with 
the  other  hand  and  from  the  pocket  drew  forth  a  great 
iron  key. 

"  I  brought  this  key,  thinking  that  you  might  wish  to 
unlock  the  gate  —  and  come  to  —  to  this  side.  I  had  great 
difficulty  in  taking  it  from  the  forester's  closet,  where  it 
has  been  hanging  for  a  hundred  years  or  more." 

She  showed  John  the  key,  returned  it  to  her  pocket,  made 
a  courtesy,  and  moved  slowly  away,  walking  backward. 

"  Mistress  Vernon,"  cried  John,  "  I  beg  you  to  let  me 
have  the  key." 

"  It  is  too  late,  now,"  said  the  girl,  with  downcast  eyes. 
"  Darkness  is  rapidly  falling,  and  I  must  return  to  the  Hall." 

John  began  to  climb  the  gate,  but  she  stopped  him.  He 
had  thrown  away  his  opportunity. 

"  Please  do  not  follow  me,  Sir  John,"  said  she,  still  mov 
ing  backward.  "  I  must  not  remain  longer." 

"  Only  for  one  moment,"  pleaded  John. 

"No,"  the  girl  responded,  "I  —  I  may,  perhaps,  bring 
the  key  when  I  come  again.  I  am  glad,  Sir  John,  that 
you  came  to  meet  me  this  evening."  She  courtesied,  and 
then  hurried  away  toward  H addon  Hall.  Twice  she 
looked  backward  and  waved  her  hand,  and  John  stood 
watching  her  through  the  bars  till  her  form  was  lost  to 
view  beneath  the  crest  of  Bowling  Green  Hill. 

" '  I  brought  this  key,  thinking  that  you  might  wish  to 
unlock  the  gate  and  come  to  this  side,'  "  muttered  John, 
quoting  the  girl's  words.  "  Compared  with  you,  John 
Manners,  there  is  no  other  fool  in  this  world."  Then 
meditatively :  "  I  wonder  if  she  feels  toward  me  as  I  feel 
toward  her  ?  Surely  she  does.  What  other  reason  could 
bring  her  here  to  meet  me  unless  she  is  a  brazen,  wanton 
creature  who  is  for  every  man."  Then  came  a  jealous 


104  DOROTHY   VERNON 

thought  that  hurt  him  like  the  piercing  of  a  knife.  It 
lasted  but  a  moment,  however,  and  he  continued  muttering 
to  himself  :  "If  she  loves  me  and  will  be  my  wife,  I  will  — 
I  will.  ...  In  God's  name  what  will  I  do  ?  If  I  were  to 
marry  her,  old  Vernon  would  kill  her,  and  I  —  I  should  kill 
my  father." 

Then  John  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  homeward  the 
unhappiest  happy  man  in  England.  He  had  made  peril 
ous  strides  toward  that  pinnacle  sans  honor,  sans  caution, 
sans  conscience,  sans  everything  but  love. 

That  evening  while  we  were  walking  on  the  battlements, 
smoking,  John  told  me  of  his  interview  with  Dorothy  and 
extolled  her  beauty,  grace,  and  winsomeness  which,  in  truth, 
as  you  know,  were  matchless.  But  when  he  spoke  of  "  her 
sweet,  shy  modesty,"  I  came  near  to  laughing  in  his 
face. 

"  Did  she  not  write  a  letter  asking  you  to  meet  her?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Why  —  y-e-s,"  returned  John. 

"And,"  I  continued,  "has  she  not  from  the  first  sought 
you  ? " 

"It  almost  seems  to  be  so,"  answered  John,  "but  not 
withstanding  the  fact  that  one  might  say  —  might  call  — 
that  one  might  feel  that  her  conduct  is  —  that  it  might  be 
—  you  know,  well  —  it  might  be  called  by  some  persons 
not  knowing  all  the  facts  in  the  case,  immodest  —  I  hate  to 
use  the  word  with  reference  to  her  —  yet  it  does  not  appear 
to  me  to  have  been  at  all  immodest  in  Mistress  Vernon, 
and,  Sir  Malcolm,  I  should  be  deeply  offended  were  any 
of  my  friends  to  intimate  —  " 

"  Now,  John,"  I  returned,  laughing  at  him,  "  you  could 
not,  if  you  wished,  make  me  quarrel  with  you ;  and  if  you 
desire  it,  I  will  freely  avow  my  firm  belief  in  the  fact  that 
my  cousin  Dorothy  is  the  flower  of  modesty.  Does  that 
better  suit  you  ?  " 


MINE    ENEMY'S    ROOF-TREE       105 

I  could  easily  see  that  my  bantering  words  did  not  suit 
him  at  all ;  but  I  laughed  at  him,  and  he  could  not  find  it 
in  his  heart  to  show  his  ill-feeling. 

"I  will  not  quarrel  with  you,"  he  returned;  "but  in 
plain  words,  I  do  not  like  the  tone  in  which  you  speak  of 
her.  It  hurts  me,  and  I  do  not  believe  you  would  wilfully 
give  me  pain." 

"  Indeed,  I  would  not,"  I  answered  seriously. 

"  Mistress  Vernon's  conduct  toward  me,"  John  con 
tinued,  "has  been  gracious.  There  has  been  no  immod 
esty  nor  boldness  in  it." 

I  laughed  again  and  said :  "  I  make  my  humble  apolo 
gies  to  her  Majesty,  Queen  Dorothy.  But  in  all  earnest 
ness,  Sir  John,  you  are  right :  Dorothy  is  modest  and  pure. 
As  for  her  conduct  toward  you,  there  is  a  royal  quality 
about  beauty  such  as  my  cousin  possesses  which  gives  an 
air  of  graciousness  to  acts  that  in  a  plainer  girl  would 
seem  bold.  Beauty,  like  royalty,  has  its  own  prerogatives." 

For  a  fortnight  after  the  adventures  just  related,  John, 
in  pursuance  of  his  oft-repeated  resolution  not  to  see 
Dorothy,  rode  every  evening  to  Bowling  Green  Gate ;  but 
during  that  time  he  failed  to  see  her,  and  the  resolutions, 
with  each  failure,  became  weaker  and  fewer. 

One  evening,  after  many  disappointments,  John  came  to 
my  room  bearing  in  his  hands  a  letter  which  he  said  Jennie 
Faxton  had  delivered  to  him  at  Bowling  Green  Gate. 

"  Mistress  Vernon,"  said  John,  "  and  Lady  Madge  Stan 
ley  will  ride  to  Derby-town  to-morrow.  They  will  go  in 
the  Haddon  Hall  coach,  and  Dawson  will  drive.  Mistress 
Vernon  writes  to  me  thus  :  — 

"'To  SIR  JOHN  MANNERS:  — 

"  '  My  good  wishes  and  my  kind  greeting.  Lady  Madge 
Stanley,  my  good  aunt,  Lady  Crawford,  and  myself  do 
intend  journeying  to  Derby-town  to-morrow.  My  aunt, 


io6  DOROTHY   VERNON 

Lady  Crawford,  is  slightly  ill,  and  although  I  should  much 
regret  to  see  her  sickness  grow  greater,  yet  if  ill  she  must 
be,  I  do  hope  that  her  worst  day  will  be  upon  the  morrow, 
in  which  case  she  could  not  accompany  Lady  Madge  and 
me.  I  shall  nurse  my  good  aunt  carefully  this  day,  and 
shall  importune  her  to  take  plentifully  of  physic  that  she 
may  quickly  recover  her  health  —  after  to-morrow.  Should 
a  gentleman  ask  of  Will  Dawson,  who  will  be  in  the  tap 
room  of  the  Royal  Arms  at  eleven  o'clock  of  the  morning, 
Dawson  will  be  glad  to  inform  the  gentleman  concerning 
Lady  Crawford's  health.  Let  us  hope  that  the  physic 
will  cure  Lady  Crawford  —  by  the  day  after  to-morrow  at 
furthest.  The  said  Will  Dawson  may  be  trusted.  With 
great  respect,  DOROTHY  VERNON.'  " 

"  I  suppose  the  gentleman  will  be  solicitous  concerning 
Lady  Crawford's  health  to-morrow  morning  at  eleven 
o'clock,"  said  I. 

"  The  gentleman  is  now  solicitous  concerning  Lady 
Crawford's  health,"  answered  John,  laughingly.  "Was 
there  ever  a  lady  more  fair  and  gracious  than  Mistress 
Vernon  ?" 

I  smiled  with  a  superior  air  at  John's  weakness,  being, 
as  you  know,  entirely  free  from  his  complaint  myself,  and 
John  continued  :  — 

"  Perhaps  you  would  call  Mistress  Dorothy  bold  for 
sending  me  this  letter  ?  " 

"  It  is  redolent  with  shyness,"  I  answered.  "  But  would 
you  really  wish  poor  Lady  Crawford  to  be  ill  that  you 
might  witness  Mistress  Dorothy's  modesty?" 

"  Please  don't  jest  on  that  subject,"  said  John,  seriously. 
"  I  would  wish  anything,  I  fear,  that  would  bring  me  an 
opportunity  to  see  her,  to  look  upon  her  face,  and  to  hear 
her  voice.  For  her  I  believe  I  would  sacrifice  every  one 
who  is  dear  to  me.  One  day  she  shall  be  mine — mine 


MINE    ENEMY'S    ROOF-TREE       107 

at  whatever  cost  —  if  she  will  be.  If  she  will  be.  Ah, 
there  is  the  rub !  If  she  will  be.  I  dare  not  hope  for 
that." 

"I  think,"  said  I,  "that  you  really  have  some  little 
cause  to  hope." 

"  You  speak  in  the  same  tone  again.  Malcolm,  you  do 
not  understand  her.  She  might  love  me  to  the  extent 
that  I  sometimes  hope ;  but  her  father  and  mine  would 
never  consent  to  our  union,  and  she,  I  fear,  could  not  be 
induced  to  marry  me  under  those  conditions.  Do  not  put 
the  hope  into  my  heart." 

"  You  only  now  said  she  should  be  yours  some  day,"  I 
answered. 

"  So  she  shall,"  returned  John,  "  so  she  shall." 

"  But  Lady  Madge  is  to  be  with  her  to-morrow,"  said  I, 
my  own  heart  beating  with  an  ardent  wish  and  a  new-born 
hope,  "  and  you  may  be  unable,  after  all,  to  see  Mistress 
Dorothy." 

"  That  is  true,"  replied  John.  "  I  do  not  know  how  she 
will  arrange  matters,  but  I  have  faith  in  her  ingenuity." 

Well  might  he  have  faith,  for  Dorothy  was  possessed  of 
that  sort  of  a  will  which  usually  finds  a  way. 

"  If  you  wish  me  to  go  with  you  to  Derby-town,  I  will 
do  so.  Perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  entertain  Lady  Madge 
while  you  have  a  word  with  Dorothy.  What  think  you  of 
the  plan  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  If  you  will  go  with  me,  Malcolm,  I  shall  thank  you  with 
all  my  heart." 

And  so  it  was  agreed  between  us  that  we  should  both 
go  to  Derby-town  for  the  purpose  of  inquiring  about  Lady 
Crawford's  health,  though  for  me  the  expedition  was  full 
of  hazard. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  DANGEROUS  TRIP  TO  DERBY-TOWN 

THE  next  morning  broke  brightly,  but  soon  clouds 
began  to   gather  and  a  storm   seemed  imminent. 
We  feared  that  the  gloomy  prospect  of  the  sky 
might  keep  Dorothy  and  Madge  at  home,  but  long  before 
the  appointed  hour  John  and  I  were  at  the  Royal  Arms 
watching  eagerly  for  the  H addon  coach.     At  the  inn  we 
occupied  a  room  from  which  we  could  look  into  the  court 
yard,   and  at  the  window  we  stood   alternating  between 
exaltation  and  despair. 

When  my  cogitations  turned  upon  myself  —  a  palpi 
tating  youth  of  thirty-five,  waiting  with  beating  heart  for 
a  simple  blind  girl  little  more  than  half  my  age ;  and 
when  I  remembered  how  for  years  I  had  laughed  at 
the  tenderness  of  the  fairest  women  of  the  French  and 
Scottish  courts  —  I  could  not  help  saying  to  myself, 
"  Poor  fool !  you  have  achieved  an  early  second  child 
hood."  But  when  I  recalled  Madge  in  all  her  beauty, 
purity,  and  helplessness,  my  cynicism  left  me,  and  I,  who 
had  enjoyed  all  of  life's  ambitious  possibilities,  calmly 
reached  the  conclusion  that  it  is  sometimes  a  blessed  privi 
lege  to  be  a  fool.  While  I  dwelt  on  thoughts  of  Madge, 
all  the  latent  good  within  me  came  uppermost.  There  is 
latent  good  in  every  man,  though  it  may  remain  latent  all 
his  life.  Good  resolves,  pure  thoughts,  and  noble  aspira 
tions —  new  sensations  to  me,  I  blush  to  confess- — bubbled 

108 


DANGEROUS  TRIP  TO  DERBY-TOWN   109 

in  my  heart,  and  I  made  a  mental  prayer,  "If  this  is  folly, 
may  God  banish  wisdom."  What  is  there,  after  all  is  said, 
in  wisdom,  that  men  should  seek  it?  Has  it  ever  brought 
happiness  to  its  possessor  ?  I  am  an  old  man  at  this 
writing.  I  have  tasted  all  the  cups  of  life,  and  from  the 
fulness  of  my  experience  I  tell  you  that  the  simple  life  is 
the  only  one  wherein  happiness  is  found.  When  you  per 
mit  your  heart  and  your  mind  to  grow  complex  and  wise, 
you  make  nooks  and  crannies  for  wretchedness  to  lodge 
in.  Innocence  is  Nature's  wisdom;  knowledge  is  man's 
folly. 

An  hour  before  noon  our  patience  was  rewarded  when 
we  saw  the  Haddon  Hall  coach  drive  into  the  courtyard 
with  Dawson  on  the  box.  I  tried  to  make  myself  believe 
that  I  did  not  wish  Lady  Crawford  were  ill.  But  there  is 
little  profit  in  too  close  scrutiny  of  our  deep-seated  motives, 
and  in  this  case  I  found  no  comfort  in  self-examination.  I 
really  did  wish  that  Aunt  Dorothy  were  ill. 

My  motive  studying,  however,  was  brought  to  a  joyous 
end  when  I  saw  Will  Dawson  close  the  coach  door  after 
Madge  and  Dorothy  had  alighted. 

How  wondrously  beautiful  they  were !  Had  we 
lived  in  the  days  when  Olympus  ruled  the  world,  John 
surely  would  have  had  a  god  for  his  rival.  Dorothy 
seemed  luminous,  so  radiant  was  she  with  the  fire  of  life. 
As  for  Madge,  had  I  beheld  a  corona  hovering  over  her 
head  I  should  have  thought  it  in  all  respects  a  natural  and 
appropriate  phenomenon  —  so  fair  and  saintlike  did  she 
appear  to  me.  Her  warm  white  furs  and  her  clinging  gown 
of  soft  light-colored  woollen  stuff  seemed  to  be  a  saint's 
robe,  and  her  dainty  little  hat,  fashioned  with  ermine  about 
the  edge  of  the  rim  —  well,  that  was  the  corona,  and  I 
was  ready  to  worship. 

Dorothy,  as  befitted  her,  wore  a  blaze  of  harmonious 
colors  and  looked  like  the  spirit  of  life  and  youth.  I  wish 


no  DOROTHY    VERNON 

I  could  cease  rhapsodizing  over  those  two  girls,  but  I 
cannot.  You  may  pass  over  it  as  you  read,  if  you  do  not 
like  it. 

"Ye  gods!  did  ever  a  creature  so  perfect  as  she  tread 
the  earth  ?  "  asked  John,  meaning,  of  course,  Dorothy. 

"  No,"  answered  I,  meaning,  of  course,  Madge. 

The  girls  entered  the  inn,  and  John  and  I  descended  to 
the  tap-room  for  the  purpose  of  consulting  Will  Dawson 
concerning  the  state  of  Aunt  Dorothy's  health. 

When  we  entered  the  tap-room  Will  was  standing  near 
the  fireplace  with  a  mug  of  hot  punch  in  his  hand.  When 
I  touched  him,  he  almost  dropped  the  mug  so  great  was  his 
surprise  at  seeing  me. 

"Sir  Mai—  '  he  began  to  say,  but  I  stopped  him  by 
a  gesture.  He  instantly  recovered  his  composure  and  ap 
peared  not  to  recognize  me. 

I  spoke  in  broken  English,  for,  as  you  know,  I  belong 
more  to  France  than  to  any  other  country.  "  I  am  Sir 
Francois  de  Lorraine,"  said  I.  "  I  wish  to  inquire  if  Lady 
Crawford  is  in  good  health  ?  " 

"  Her  ladyship  is  ill,  sir,  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  responded 
Will,  taking  off  his  hat.  "  Mistress  Vernon  and  Lady 
Madge  Stanley  are  at  the  inn.  If  you  wish  to  inquire 
more  particularly  concerning  Lady  Crawford's  health,  I  will 
ask  them  if  they  wish  to  receive  you.  They  are  in  the 
parlor." 

Will  was  the  king  of  trumps ! 

"  Say  to  them,"  said  I,  "that  Sir  Francois  de  Lorraine  — 
mark  the  name  carefully,  please  —  and  his  friend  desire 
to  make  inquiry  concerning  Lady  Crawford's  health,  and 
would  deem  it  a  great  honor  should  the  ladies  grant  them 
an  interview." 

Will's  countenance  was  as  expressionless  as  the  face 
upon  the  mug  from  which  he  had  been  drinking. 

"I   shall  inform   the  ladies  of   your   honor's  request." 


DANGEROUS  TRIP  TO  DERBY-TOWN    in 

He  thereupon  placed  the  half-emptied  mug  upon  the  fire- 
shelf  and  left  the  room. 

When  Will  announced  his  errand  to  the  girls,  Dorothy 
said  in  surprise  :  — 

"Sir  Francois  de  Lorraine?  That  is  the  name  of  the 
Grand  Due  de  Guise,  but  surely —  Describe  him  to  me, 
Will." 

"  He  is  about  your  height,  Mistress  Dorothy,  and  is  very 
handsome,"  responded  Will. 

The  latter  part  of  Will's  description  placed  me  under 
obligation  to  him  to  the  extent  of  a  gold  pound  sterling. 

"Ah,  it  is  John!"  thought  Dorothy,  forgetting  the  fact 
that  John  was  a  great  deal  taller  than  she,  but  feeling 
that  Will's  description  of  "very  handsome"  could  apply  to 
only  one  man  in  the  world.  "  He  has  taken  Malcolm's 
name."  Then  she  said,  "  Bring  him  to  us,  Will.  But  who 
is  the  friend?  Do  you  know  him?  Tell  me  his  appearance." 

"  I  did  not  notice  the  other  gentleman,"  replied  Will, 
"  and  I  can  tell  you  nothing  of  him." 

"  Will,  you  are  a  very  stupid  man.  But  bring  the  gen 
tlemen  here."  Dorothy  had  taken  Will  into  her  confi 
dence  to  the  extent  of  telling  him  that  a  gentleman  would 
arrive  at  the  Royal  Arms  who  would  inquire  for  Lady 
Crawford's  health,  and  that  she,  Dorothy,  would  fully 
inform  the  gentleman  upon  that  interesting  topic.  Will 
may  have  had  suspicions  of  his  own,  but  if  so,  he  kept 
them  to  himself,  and  at  least  did  not  know  that  the  gen 
tleman  whom  his  mistress  expected  to  see  was  Sir  John 
Manners.  Neither  did  he  suspect  that  fact.  Dawson  had 
never  seen  Manners,  and  did  not  know  he  was  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Derby.  The  fact  was  concealed  from 
Dawson  by  Dorothy  not  so  much  because  she  doubted 
him,  but  for  the  reason  that  she  wished  him  to  be  able 
truthfully  to  plead  innocence  in  case  trouble  should  grow 
out  of  the  Derby-town  escapade. 


H2  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  I  wonder  why  John  did  not  come  alone  ? "  thought 
Dorothy.  "  This  friend  of  his  will  be  a  great  hindrance." 

Dorothy  ran  to  the  mirror  and  hurriedly  gave  a  few 
touches  to  her  hair,  pressing  it  lightly  with  her  soft  flexi 
ble  fingers  here,  and  tucking  in  a  stray  curl  there,  which 
for  beauty's  sake  should  have  been  allowed  to  hang  loose. 
She  was  standing  at  the  pier-glass  trying  to  see  the  back 
of  her  head  when  Will  knocked  to  announce  our  arrival. 

"  Come,"  said  Dorothy. 

Will  opened  the  door  and  held  it  for  us  to  pass  in. 
Madge  was  seated  near  the  fire.  When  we  entered 
Dorothy  was  standing  with  great  dignity  in  the  centre 
of  the  floor,  not  of  course  intending  to  make  an  exhibition 
of  delight  over  John  in  the  presence  of  a  stranger.  But 
when  she  saw  that  I  was  the  stranger,  she  ran  to  me  with 
outstretched  hands. 

"Good  morning,  Mistress  Vernon,"  said  I,  in  mock 
ceremoniousness. 

"  Oh,  Malcolm  !  Malcolm  !  "  cried  Madge,  quickly  rising 
from  her  chair.  "You  are  cruel,  Dorothy,  to  surprise  me 
in  this  fashion." 

"  I,  too,  am  surprised.  I  did  not  know  that  Malcolm 
was  coming,"  replied  Dorothy,  turning  to  give  welcome 
to  John.  Then  I  stepped  to  Madge's  side  and  took  her 
hands,  but  all  I  could  say  was  "  Madge !  Madge !  "  and 
all  she  said  was  "  Malcolm  !  Malcolm  !  "  yet  we  seemed 
to  understand  each  other. 

John  and  Dorothy  were  likewise  stricken  with  a  paucity 
of  words,  but  they  also  doubtless  understood  each  other. 
After  a  moment  or  two  there  fell  upon  me  a  shower  of 
questions  from  Dorothy. 

"  Did  you  not  go  to  France  ?  How  happens  it  that  you 
are  in  Derby-town  ?  Where  did  you  meet  Sir  John  ? 
What  a  delightful  surprise  you  have  given  us !  Nothing 
was  wanting  to  make  us  happy  but  your  presence." 


DANGEROUS  TRIP  TO  DERBY-TOWN   113 

"  I  am  so  happy  that  it  frightens  me,"  said  Dorothy  in 
ecstasy.  "Trouble  will  come,  I  am  sure.  One  extreme 
always  follows  another.  The  pendulum  always  swings 
as  far  back  as  it  goes  forward.  But  we  are  happy  now, 
aren't  we,  Madge  ?  I  intend  to  remain  so  while  I  can. 
The  pendulum  may  swing  as  far  backward  as  it  chooses 
hereafter.  Sufficient  to  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.  Some 
times  the  joy  is  almost  sufficient,  isn't  it,  Madge  ?  " 

"  The  evil  is  more  than  sufficient  some  days,"  answered 
Madge. 

"  Come,  Madge,  don't  be  foreboding." 

"  Dorothy,  I  have  not  met  the  other  gentleman,"  said 
Madge. 

"  Ah,  pardon  me.  In  my  surprise  I  forgot  to  present 
you.  Lady  Madge  Stanley,  let  me  present  Sir  John 
Manners." 

"  Sir  John  Manners ! "  cried  Madge,  taking  a  step 
backward.  Her  surprise  was  so  great  that  she  forgot  to 
acknowledge  the  introduction.  "  Dorothy,  what  means 
this  ?  "  she  continued. 

"It  means,"  replied  Dorothy,  nervously,  "that  Sir  John 
is  my  very  dear  friend.  I  will  explain  it  to  you  at  another 
time." 

We  stood  silently  for  a  few  moments,  and  John  said  :  — 

"  I  hope  I  may  find  favor  in  your  heart,  Lady  Madge. 
I  wish  to  greet  you  with  my  sincere  homage." 

"  Sir  John,  I  am  glad  to  greet  you,  but  I  fear  the  pendu 
lum  of  which  Dorothy  spoke  will  swing  very  far  backward 
erelong." 

"  Let  it  swing  as  far  back  as  it  chooses,"  answered 
Dorothy,  with  a  toss  of  her  head,  "  I  am  ready  to  buy  and 
to  pay  for  happiness.  That  seems  to  be  the  only  means 
whereby  we  may  have  it.  I  am  ready  to  buy  it  with  pain 
any  day,  and  am  willing  to  pay  upon  demand.  Pain  passes 
away  ;  joy  lasts  forever." 


ii4  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  I  know,"  said  Sir  John,  addressing  Madge,  "  I  know 
it  is  not  prudent  for  Malcolm  and  me  to  be  here  to-day  ; 
but  imprudent  things  seem  to  be  the  most  delightful." 

"  For  men,  Sir  John,"  returned  Madge.  "  Upon  women 
they  leave  their  mark." 

"  I  fear  you  are  right,"  he  answered.  "  I  had  not 
thought  of  my  visit  in  that  light.  For  Mistress  Vernon's 
sake  it  is  better  that  I  do  not  remain  in  Derby." 

"  For  Mistress  Vernon's  sake  you  shall  remain,"  cried 
that  impetuous  young  woman,  clutching  John's  arm. 

After  a  time,  Dorothy  wishing  to  visit  one  of  the  shops 
to  make  purchases,  it  was  agreed  between  us  that  we  should 
all  walk  out.  Neither  Dorothy  nor  Madge  had  ever  before 
visited  Derby-town.  John  and  I  had  visited  the  place 
but  once ;  that  was  upon  the  occasion  of  our  first  meeting. 
No  one  in  the  town  knew  us,  and  we  felt  safe  in  venturing 
forth  into  the  streets.  So  we  helped  Dorothy  and  Madge 
to  don  their  furs,  and  out  we  went  happier  and  more  reck 
less  than  four  people  have  any  good  right  to  be.  But  before 
setting  out  I  went  to  the  tap-room  and  ordered  dinner. 

I  found  the  host  and  directed  him  to  prepare  a  dozen 
partridges  in  a  pie,  a  haunch  of  venison,  a  few  links  of 
German  sausage,  and  a  capon.  The  host  informed  me 
that  he  had  in  his  pantry  a  barrel  of  roots  called  potatoes 
which  had  been  sent  to  him  by  a  sea-captain  who  had 
recently  returned  from  the  new  world.  He  hurried  away 
and  brought  a  potato  for  inspection.  It  was  of  a  gray 
brown  color  and  near  the  size  of  an  egg.  The  landlord 
assured  me  that  it  was  delicious  when  baked,  and  I  ordered 
four,  at  the  cost  of  a  crown  each.  I  understand  that  my 
Lord  Raleigh  claims  to  have  brought  the  first  potatoes  and 
tobacco  into  England  in  '85  ;  but  I  know  that  I  smoked 
tobacco  in  '66,  and  I  saw  potatoes  at  the  Royal  Arms  in 
Derby-town  in  '67.  I  also  ordered  another  new  dish  for 
our  famous  dinner.  It  was  a  brown  beverage  called  coffee. 


DANGEROUS  TRIP  TO  DERBY-TOWN   115 

The  berries  from  which  the  beverage  is  made  mine  host 
showed  to  me,  and  said  they  had  been  brought  to  him  by  a 
sea-faring  man  from  Arabia.  I  ordered  a  pot  of  the  drink 
at  a  cost  of  three  crowns.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  coffee 
was  not  known  in  Europe  or  in  England  till  it  was  intro 
duced  by  Rawolf  in  '73,  but  I  saw  it  at  the  Royal  Arms 
in  '67.  In  addition  to  this  list,  I  ordered  for  our  drinking 
sweet  wine  from  Madeira  and  red  wine  from  Burgundy. 
The  latter-named  wine  had  begun  to  grow  in  favor  at  the 
French  court  when  I  left  France  five  years  before.  It  was 
little  liked  in  England.  All  these  dainties  were  rare  at  the 
time  of  which  I  write  ;  but  they  have  since  grown  into  con 
siderable  use,  and  I  doubt  not,  as  we  progress  in  luxury, 
they  will  become  common  articles  of  food  upon  the  tables 
of  the  rich.  Prongs,  or  forks,  as  they  are  called,  which  by 
some  are  used  in  cutting  and  eating  one's  food  at  table,  I 
also  predict  will  become  implements  of  daily  use.  It  is 
really  a  filthy  fashion,  which  we  have,  of  handling  food 
with  our  fingers.  The  Italians  have  used  forks  for  some 
time,  but  our  preachers  speak  against  them,  saying  God 
has  given  us  our  fingers  with  which  to  eat,  and  that  it  is 
impious  to  thwart  his  purposes  by  the  use  of  forks.  The 
preachers  will  probably  retard  the  general  use  of  forks 
among  the  common  people. 

After  I  had  given  my  order  for  dinner  we  started  out  on 
our  ramble  through  Derby-town. 

Shortly  after  we  left  the  inn  we  divided  into  couples  for 
the  ostensible  reason  that  we  did  not  wish  to  attract  too 
much  attention  —  Dorothy  and  John,  Madge  and  I !  Our 
real  reason  for  separating  was  —  but  you  understand. 

Madge's  hand  lay  like  a  span  of  snow  upon  my  arm, 
and  —  but  this  time  I  will  restrain  my  tendency  to  rhap 
sodize. 

We  walked  out  through  those  parts  of  the  town  which 
were  little  used,  and  Madge  talked  freely  and  happily. 


u6  DOROTHY    VERNON 

She  fairly  babbled,  and  to  me  her  voice  was  like  the 
murmurings  of  the  rivers  that  flowed  out  of  paradise. 

We  had  agreed  with  John  and  Dorothy  to  meet  them  at 
the  Royal  Arms  in  one  hour,  and  that  time  had  almost 
passed  when  Madge  and  I  turned  our  faces  toward  the 
inn. 

When  we  were  within  a  short  distance  of  our  hostelry 
we  saw  a  crowd  gathered  around  a  young  man  who  was 
standing  on  a  box.  He  was  speaking  in  a  mournful,  lugu 
brious  voice  and  accompanied  his  words  with  violent  ges 
ticulations.  Out  of  curiosity  we  stopped  to  listen,  and 
learned  that  religion  was  our  orator's  theme. 

I  turned  to  a  man  standing  near  me  and  asked :  — 

"Who  is  the  fellow  speaking  ? " 

"  The  pious  man  is  Robert  Brown.  He  is  exhorting  in 
the  name  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts." 

"The  pious  Robert  Brown?"  I  queried,  "exhorting  in 
in  the  name  of  —  of  the  Lord  of  where,  did  you  say  ? " 

"  Hosts,"  laconically  responded  my  friend,  while  listen 
ing  intently  to  the  words  of  Brown. 

"  Hosts,  say  you  ?  Who  is  he?  "  I  asked  of  my  interest 
ing  neighbor.  "  I  know  him  not." 

"  Doubtless  you  know  Him  not,"  responded  the  man, 
evidently  annoyed  at  my  interruption  and  my  flippancy. 

After  a  moment  or  two  I,  desiring  to  know  more  con 
cerning  the  orator,  asked  :  — 

"  Robert  Brown,  say  you  ?  " 

"Even  he,"  came  the  response.  "  It  will  be  good  for 
your  soul  if  you  but  listen  to  him  in  a  prayerful  mood. 
He  is  a  young  man  upon  whom  the  Spirit  hath  descended 
plenteously." 

"The  Spirit?"  I  asked. 

"  Ay,"  returned  my  neighbor. 

I  could  not  extract  another  word  from  him,  so  I  had  the 
worst  of  the  encounter. 


DANGEROUS  TRIP  TO  DERBY-TOWN  117 

We  had  been  standing  there  but  a  short  time  when  the 
young  exhorter  descended  from  his  improvised  pulpit  and 
passed  among  the  crowd  for  the  purpose  of  collecting 
money.  His  harangue  had  appeared  ridiculous  to  me, 
but  Madge  seemed  interested  in  his  discourse.  She  said  :  — 

"  He  is  very  earnest,  Malcolm,"  and  at  once  my  heart 
went  out  to  the  young  enthusiast  upon  the  box.  One  kind 
word  from  Madge,  and  I  was  the  fellow's  friend  for  life. 
I  would  have  remained  his  friend  had  he  permitted  me 
that  high  privilege.  But  that  he  would  not  do.  When  he 
came  to  me,  I  dropped  into  his  hat  a  small  silver  piece 
which  shone  brightly  among  a  few  black  copper  coins. 
My  liberal  contribution  did  not  induce  him  to  kindness, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  it  attracted  his  attention  to  the  giver. 
He  looked  at  the  silver  coin,  and  then  turning  his  solemn 
gaze  upon  me,  eyed  me  insolently  from  head  to  foot.  While 
doing  so  a  look  of  profound  disgust  spread  over  his  mourn 
ful  countenance.  After  a  calm  survey  of  my  person,  which 
to  me  was  uncomfortably  long,  he  turned  to  the  bystanders, 
and  in  the  same  high-pitched,  lugubrious  voice  which  he 
had  used  when  exhorting,  said :  — 

"  Brethren,  here  behold  ye  the  type  of  anti-Christ,"  and 
he  waved  his  thin  hand  toward  me  much  to  my  amusement 
and  annoyance.  "Here,"  said  he,  "we  find  the  leading 
strings  to  all  that  is  iniquitous — vanity.  It  is  betokened 
in  his  velvets,  satins,  and  laces.  Think  ye,  young  man," 
he  said,  turning  to  me,  "  that  such  vanities  are  not  an 
abomination  in  the  eyes  of  the  God  of  Israel?" 

"  I  believe  that  the  God  of  Israel  cares  nothing  about 
my  apparel,"  I  replied,  more  amused  than  angered.  He 
paid  no  attention  to  my  remark. 

"  And  this  young  woman,"  he  continued,  pointing  to 
Madge,  "this  young  woman,  daughter  of  the  Roman  har 
lot,  no  doubt,  she  also  is  arrayed  in  silks,  taffetas,  and  fine 
cloth.  Look  ye,  friends,  upon  this  abominable  collar  of 


n8  DOROTHY   VERNON 

Satan ;  this  ruff  of  fine  linen,  all  smeared  in  the  devil's 
own  liquor,  starch.  Her  vanity  is  an  offence  in  the  nos 
trils  of  God's  people." 

As  he  spoke  he  stretched  forth  his  hand  and  caught 
in  his  clawlike  grasp  the  dainty  white  ruff  that  encircled 
Madge's  neck.  When  I  saw  his  act,  my  first  impulse  was 
to  run  him  through,  and  I  drew  my  sword  half  from  its 
scabbard  with  that  purpose.  But  he  was  not  the  sort  of  a 
man  upon  whom  I  could  use  my  blade.  He  was  hardly 
more  than  a  boy  —  a  wild,  half -crazed  fanatic,  whose  rea 
son,  if  he  had  ever  possessed  any,  had  been  lost  in  the 
Charybdis  of  his  zeal.  He  honestly  thought  it  was  his  duty 
to  insult  persons  who  apparently  disagreed  with  him.  Such 
a  method  of  proselyting  is  really  a  powerful  means  of  per 
suasion  among  certain  classes,  and  it  has  always  been  used 
by  men  who  have  successfully  founded  permanent  religious 
sects.  To  plant  successfully  a  religious  thought  or  system 
requires  more  violent  aggression  than  to  conquer  a  nation. 

Since  I  could  not  run  the  fellow  through,  I  drew  back 
my  arm,  and  striking  as  lightly  as  possible,  I  laid  our  zeal 
ous  friend  sprawling  on  his  back.  Thus  had  I  the  honor 
of  knocking  down  the  founder  of  the  Brownists. 

If  I  mistake  not,  the  time  will  come,  if  these  men  are 
allowed  to  harange  the  populace,  when  the  kings  of  Eng 
land  will  be  unable  to  accomplish  the  feat  of  knocking 
down  Brown's  followers.  Heresies,  like  noxious  weeds, 
grow  without  cultivation,  and  thrive  best  on  barren  soil. 
Or  shall  I  say  that,  like  the  goodly  vine,  they  bear  better 
fruit  when  pruned?  I  cannot  fully  decide  this  question 
for  myself;  but  I  admire  these  sturdy  fanatics  who  so 
passionately  love  their  own  faith,  and  so  bitterly  hate  all 
others,  and  I  am  almost  prepared  to  say  that  each  new 
heresy  brings  to  the  world  a  better  orthodoxy. 

For  a  little  time  after  my  encounter  with  Brown,  all 
my  skill  was  needed  to  ward  off  the  frantic  hero.  He 


DANGEROUS  TRIP  TO  DERBY-TOWN   119 

quickly  rose  to  his  feet,  and,  with  the  help  of  his  friends, 
seemed  determined  to  spread  the  gospel  by  tearing  me  to 
pieces.  My  sword  point  kept  the  rabble  at  a  respectful 
distance  for  a  while,  but  they  crowded  closely  upon  me,  and 
I  should  have  been  compelled  to  kill  some  of  them  had  I 
not  been  reenforced  by  two  men  who  came  to  my  help  and 
laid  about  them  most  joyfully  with  their  quarterstaffs.  A 
few  broken  heads  stemmed  for  a  moment  the  torrent  of 
religious  enthusiasm,  and  during  a  pause  in  the  hostilities 
I  hurriedly  retreated  with  Madge,  ungratefully  leaving  my 
valiant  allies  to  reap  the  full  reward  of  victory  should  the 
fortunes  of  war  favor  them. 

Madge  was  terribly  frightened,  and  with  her  by  my  side 
I,  of  course,  would  not  have  remained  to  fight  the  redoubt 
able  Bayard  himself. 

We  hurried  forward,  but  before  we  reached  the  inn  we 
were  overtaken  by  our  allies  whom  we  had  abandoned. 
Our  friends  were  young  men.  One  wore  a  rich,  half-rustic 
habit,  and  the  other  was  dressed  as  a  horse  boy.  Both  were 
intoxicated.  I  had  been  thankful  for  their  help ;  but  I  did 
not  want  their  company. 

"  How  now,  Cousin  Madge  ? "  said  our  richly  dressed 
ally.  "  What  in  the  devil's  name  has  brought  you  into  this 
street  broil  ? " 

"  Ah,  Cousin  James,  is  it  you  ? "  replied  the  trembling 
girl. 

"  Yes,  but  who  is  your  friend  that  so  cleverly  unloaded 
his  quarrel  upon  us  ?  Hell's  fires !  but  they  were  like  a 
swarm  of  wasps.  Who  is  your  friend,  Madge  ? " 

"  Sir  Malcolm  Vernon,"  replied  Madge.  "  Let  me  pre 
sent  you,  Sir  Malcolm,  to  my  cousin,  Lord  James  Stanley." 

I  offered  my  hand  to  his  Lordship,  and  said:  — 

"  I  thank  you  much  for  your  timely  help.  I  should  not 
have  deserted  you  had  I  not  felt  that  my  first  duty  was  to 
extricate  Lady  Madge  from  the  disagreeable  situation.  We 


no  DOROTHY    VERNON 

must  hasten  away  from  here,  or  the  mad  rabble  will 
follow  us." 

"  Right  you  are,  my  hearty,"  returned  Stanley,  slapping 
me  on  the  shoulder.  "  Of  course  you  had  to  get  the  wench 
away.  Where  do  you  go  ?  We  will  bear  you  company." 

I  longed  to  pay  the  fellow  for  his  help  by  knocking  him 
down ;  but  the  possibilities  of  trouble  ahead  of  us  were 
already  too  great,  and  I  forced  myself  to  be  content  with 
the  prowess  already  achieved. 

"  But  you  have  not  told  me  what  brought  you  into  the 
broil,"  asked  his  Lordship,  as  we  walked  toward  the  inn. 

"  Sir  Malcolm  and  I  were  walking  out  to  see  the  town 
and  —  " 

"  To  see  the  town?  By  gad,  that's  good,  Cousin  Madge. 
How  much  of  it  did  you  see  ?  You  are  as  blind  as  an  owl 
at  noon,"  answered  his  Lordship. 

"  Alas  !  I  am  blind,"  returned  Madge,  clinging  closely 
to  me,  and  shrinking  from  her  cousin's  terrible  jest.  I  could 
not  think  of  anything  sufficiently  holy  and  sacred  upon 
which  to  vow  my  vengeance  against  this  fellow,  if  the  time 
should  ever  come  when  I  dared  take  it. 

"  Are  you  alone  with  this  —  this  gentleman  ?  "  asked  his 
Lordship,  grasping  Madge  by  the  arm. 

"No,"  returned  Madge,  "  Dorothy  is  with  us." 

"  She  is  among  the  shops,"  I  volunteered  reluctantly. 

"  Dorothy  ?  Dorothy  Vernon  ?  By  gad,  Tod,  we  are 
in  luck.  I  must  see  the  wench  I  am  to  marry,"  said  his 
Lordship,  speaking  to  his  companion,  the  stable  boy.  "  So 
Dorothy  is  with  you,  is  she,  cousin  ?  I  haven't  seen  her 
for  years.  They  say  she  is  a  handsome  filly  now.  By  gad, 
she  had  room  to  improve,  for  she  was  plain  enough  to 
frighten  rats  away  from  a  barn  when  I  last  saw  her.  We 
will  go  to  the  inn  and  see  for  ourselves,  won't  we,  Tod  ? 
Dad's  word  won't  satisfy  us  when  it  comes  to  the  matter  of 
marrying,  will  it,  Tod?" 


DANGEROUS  TRIP  TO  DERBY-TOWN    121 

Tod  was  the  drunken  stable  boy  who  had  assisted  his 
Lordship  and  me  in  our  battle  with'  the  Brownists. 

I  was  at  a  loss  what  course  to  pursue.  I  was  forced  to 
submit  to  this  fellow's  company,  and  to  endure  patiently 
his  insolence.  But  John  and  Dorothy  would  soon  return, 
and  there  is  no  need  that  I  should  explain  the  dangers  of 
the  predicament  which  would  then  ensue. 

When  we  were  within  a  few  yards  of  the  inn  door  I 
looked  backward  and  saw  Dorothy  and  John  approach 
ing  us.  I  held  up  my  hand  warningly.  John  caught 
my  meaning,  and  instantly  leaving  Dorothy's  side,  entered 
an  adjacent  shop.  My  movement  had  attracted  Stan 
ley's  attention,  and  he  turned  in  the  direction  I  had 
been  looking.  When  he  saw  Dorothy,  he  turned  again 
to  me  and  asked:  — 

"  Is  that  Dorothy  Vernon  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied. 

"  Look  at  her,  Tod  !  "  exclaimed  my  lord,  "  look  at  her, 
Tod  !  The  dad  was  right  about  her,  after  all.  I  thought 
the  old  man  was  hoaxing  me  when  he  told  me  that  she  was 
beautiful.  Holy  Virgin,  Tod,  did  you  ever  see  anything  so 
handsome  ?  I  will  take  her  quick  enough  ;  I  will  take  her. 
Dad  won't  need  to  tease  me.  I'm  willing." 

Dorothy  approached  to  within  a  few  yards  of  us,  and 
my  Lord  Stanley  stepped  forward  to  meet  her. 

"Ye  don't  know  me,  do  ye  ?  "  said  Stanley. 

Dorothy  was  frightened  and  quickly  stepped  to  my 
side. 

"I  —  I  believe  not,"  responded  Dorothy. 

"  Lord  James  Stanley,"  murmured  Madge,  who  knew 
of  the  approaching  Stanley  marriage. 

"  Madge  is  right,"  returned  Stanley,  grinning  foolishly. 
"  I  am  your  cousin  James,  but  not  so  much  of  a  cousin 
that  I  cannot  be  more  than  cousin,  heh  ? "  He  laughed 
boisterously,  and  winking  at  Tod,  thrust  his  thumb  into 


122  DOROTHY    VERNON 

that  worthy's  ribs..  "  Say,  Tod,  something  more  than 
cousin ;  that's  the  thing,  isn't  it,  Tod  ? " 

John  was  standing  half -concealed  at  the  door  of  the  shop 
in  which  he  had  sought  refuge.  Dorothy  well  knew  the 
peril  of  the  situation,  and  when  I  frowned  at  her  warningly, 
she  caught  the  hint  that  she  should  not  resent  Stanley's 
words,  however  insulting  and  irritating  they  might  become. 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  inn,"  said  Dorothy. 

"  That's  the  thing  to  do.  Let  us  go  to  the  inn  and  have 
dinner,"  said  Stanley.  "It's  two  hours  past  dinner  time 
now,  and  I'm  almost  famished.  We'll  have  a  famous  dinner. 
Come,  cousin,"  said  he,  addressing  Dorothy.  "We'll  have 
kidneys  and  tripe  and  — 

"We  do  not  want  dinner,"  said  Dorothy.  "We  must 
return  home  at  once.  Sir  Malcolm,  will  you  order  Dawson 
to  bring  out  the  coach  ?  " 

We  went  to  the  inn  parlor,  and  I,  loath  to  do  so,  left  the 
ladies  with  Stanley  and  his  horse-boy  friend  while  I  sought 
Dawson  for  the  purpose  of  telling  him  to  fetch  the  coach 
with  all  haste. 

"We  have  not  dined,"  said  the  forester. 

"We  shall  not  dine,"  I  answered.  "Fetch  the  coach 
with  all  the  haste  you  can  make."  The  bystanders  in  the 
tap-room  were  listening,  and  I  continued,  "A  storm  is 
brewing,  and  we  must  hasten  home." 

True  enough,  a  storm  was  brewing. 

When  I  left  Dawson,  I  hurriedly  found  John  and  told 
him  we  were  preparing  to  leave  the  inn,  and  that  we  would 
expect  him  to  overtake  us  on  the  road  to  Rowsley. 

I  returned  to  the  ladies  in  the  parlor  and  found  them 
standing  near  the  window.  Stanley  had  tried  to  kiss  Dor 
othy,  and  she  had  slapped  his  face.  Fortunately  he  had 
taken  the  blow  good-humoredly,  and  was  pouring  into  her 
unwilling  ear  a  fusillade  of  boorish  compliments  when  I 
entered  the  parlor. 


DANGEROUS  TRIP  TO  DERBY-TOWN    123 

I  said,  "The  coach  is  ready." 

The  ladies  moved  toward  the  door.  "  I  am  going  to  ride 
with  you,  my  beauty,"  said  his  Lordship. 

"  That  you  shall  not  do,"  retorted  Dorothy,  with  blazing 
eyes. 

"  That  I  will  do,"  he  answered.  "  The  roads  are  free  to 
all,  and  you  cannot  keep  me  from  following  you." 

Dorothy  was  aware  of  her  predicament,  and  I  too  saw 
it,  but  could  find  no  way  out  of  it.  I  was  troubled  a  mo 
ment  ;  but  my  fear  was  needless,  for  Dorothy  was  equal  to 
the  occasion. 

"  We  should  like  your  company,  Cousin  Stanley,"  replied 
Dorothy,  without  a  trace  of  anger  in  her  manner,  "  but 
we  cannot  let  you  ride  with  us  in  the  face  of  the  storm 
that  is  brewing." 

"  We  won't  mind  the  storm,  will  we,  Tod  ?  We  are 
going  with  our  cousin." 

"  If  you  insist  upon  being  so  kind  to  us,"  said  Doro 
thy,  "you  may  come.  But  I  have  changed  my  mind 
about  dinner.  I  am  very  hungry,  and  we  accept  your 
invitation." 

"  Now  you  are  coming  around  nicely,"  said  Lord  James, 
joyfully.  "  We  like  that,  don't  we,  Tod  ?  " 

Tod  had  been  silent  under  all  circumstances. 

Dorothy  continued  :  "  Madge  and  I  will  drive  in  the 
coach  to  one  or  two  of  the  shops,  and  we  shall  return  in 
one  hour.  Meantime,  Cousin  Stanley,  we  wish  you  to  have 
a  fine  dinner  prepared  for  us,  and  we  promise  to  do  ample 
justice  to  the  fare." 

"  She'll  never  come  back,"  said  silent  Tod,  without  mov 
ing  a  muscle. 

"  How  about  it,  cousin  ?  "  asked  Stanley.  "  Tod  says 
you'll  never  come  back ;  he  means  that  you  are  trying  to 
give  us  the  slip." 

"  Never  fear,  Cousin  Stanley,"  she  returned,  "  I  am  too 


i24  DOROTHY    VERNON 

eager  for  dinner  not  to  come  back.  If  you  fail  to  have  a 
well-loaded  table  for  me,  I  shall  never  speak  to  you  again." 

We  then  went  to  the  coach,  and  as  the  ladies  entered  it 
Dorothy  said  aloud  to  Dawson  :  — 

"  Drive  to  Conn's  shop." 

I  heard  Tod  say  to  his  worthy  master :  — 

"  She's  a  slippin'  ye." 

"  You're  a  fool,  Tod.  Don't  you  see  she  wants 
me  more  than  she  wants  the  dinner,  and  she's  hungry, 
too." 

"  Don't  see,"  retorted  his  laconic  friend. 

Of  course  when  the  coach  was  well  away  from  the  inn, 
Dawson  received  new  instructions,  and  took  the  road  to 
Rowsley.  When  the  ladies  had  departed,  I  went  to  the  tap 
room  with  Stanley,  and  after  paying  the  host  for  the  coffee, 
the  potatoes,  and  the  dinner  which  alas  !  we  had  not  tasted, 
I  ordered  a  great  bowl  of  sack  and  proceeded  to  drink  with 
my  allies  in  the  hope  that  I  might  make  them  too  drunk  to 
follow  us.  Within  half  an  hour  I  discovered  that  I  was 
laboring  at  a  hopeless  task.  There  was  great  danger  that 
I  would  be  the  first  to  succumb ;  so  I,  expressing  a  wish  to 
sleep  off  the  liquor  before  the  ladies  should  return,  made 
my  escape  from  the  tap-room,  mounted  my  horse,  and 
galloped  furiously  after  Dorothy  and  Madge.  John  was 
riding  by  the  coach  when  I  overtook  it. 

It  was  two  hours  past  noon  when  I  came  up  with  John 
and  the  girls.  Snow  had  been  falling  softly  earlier  in  the 
afternoon,  but  as  the  day  advanced  the  storm  grew  in  vio 
lence.  A  cold,  bleak  wind  was  blowing  from  the  north, 
and  by  reason  of  the  weather  and  because  of  the  ill  con 
dition  of  the  roads,  the  progress  of  the  coach  was  so  slow 
that  darkness  overtook  us  before  we  had  finished  half  of 
our  journey  to  Rowsley.  Upon  the  fall  of  night  the  storm 
increased  in  violence,  and  the  snow  came  in  piercing,  hori 
zontal  shafts  which  stung  like  the  prick  of  a  needle. 


DANGEROUS  TRIP  TO  DERBY-TOWN    125 

At  the  hour  of  six  —  I  but  guessed  the  time  —  John 
and  I,  who  were  riding  at  the  rear  of  the  coach,  heard  close 
on  our  heels  the  tramping  of  horses.  I  rode  forward  to 
Dawson,  who  was  in  the  coach  box,  and  told  him  to  drive 
with  all  the  speed  he  could  make.  I  informed  him  that 
some  one  was  following  us,  and  that  I  feared  highwaymen 
were  on  our  track. 

Hardly  had  I  finished  speaking  to  Dawson  when  I  heard 
the  report  of  a  hand-fusil,  back  of  the  coach,  near  the  spot 
where  I  had  left  John.  I  quickly  drew  my  sword,  though 
it  was  a  task  of  no  small  labor,  owing  to  the  numbness  of 
my  fingers.  I  breathed  along  the  blade  to  warm  it,  and 
then  I  hastened  to  John,  whom  I  found  in  a  desperate  con 
flict  with  three  ruffians.  No  better  swordsman  than  John 
ever  drew  blade,  and  he  was  holding  his  ground  in  the 
darkness  right  gallantly.  When  I  rode  to  his  rescue, 
another  hand-fusil  was  discharged,  and  then  another,  and 
I  knew  that  we  need  have  no  more  fear  from  bullets,  for 
the  three  men  had  discharged  their  weapons,  and  they 
could  not  reload  while  John  and  I  were  engaging  them. 
I  heard  the  bullets  tell  upon  the  coach,  and  I  heard  the 
girls  screaming  lustily.  I  feared  they  had  been  wounded, 
but  you  may  be  sure  I  had  no  leisure  to  learn  the  truth. 
Three  against  two  was  terrible  odds  in  the  dark,  where 
brute  force  and  luck  go  for  more  than  skill.  We  fought 
desperately  for  a  while,  but  in  the  end  we  succeeded  in 
beating  off  the  highwaymen.  When  we  had  finished  with 
the  knaves  who  had  attacked  us,  we  quickly  overtook  our 
party.  We  were  calling  Dawson  to  stop  when  we  saw  the 
coach,  careening  with  the  slant  of  the  hill,  topple  over,  and 
fall  to  the  bottom  of  a  little  precipice  five  or  six  feet  in 
height.  We  at  once  dismounted  and  jumped  down  the 
declivity  to  the  coach,  which  lay  on  its  side,  almost 
covered  by  drifted  snow.  The  pole  had  broken  in  the 
fall,  and  the  horses  were  standing  on  the  road.  We  first 


126  DOROTHY    VERNON 

saw  Dawson.  He  was  swearing  like  a  Dutchman,  and 
when  we  had  dragged  him  from  his  snowy  grave,  we  opened 
the  coach  door,  lifted  out  the  ladies,  and  seated  them  upon 
the  uppermost  side  of  the  coach.  They  were  only  slightly 
bruised,  but  what  they  lacked  in  bruises  they  made  up  in 
fright.  In  respect  to  the  latter  it  were  needless  for  me  to 
attempt  a  description. 

We  can  laugh  about  it  now  and  speak  lightly  concern 
ing  the  adventure,  and,  as  a  matter  of  truth,  the  humor  of 
the  situation  appealed  to  me  even  then.  But  imagine 
yourself  in  the  predicament,  and  you  will  save  me  the 
trouble  of  setting  forth  its  real  terrors. 

The  snow  was  up  to  our  belts,  and  we  did  not  at  first 
know  how  we  were  to  extricate  the  ladies.  John  and  Daw- 
son,  however,  climbed  to  the  road,  and  I  carried  Dorothy 
and  Madge  to  the  little  precipice  where  the  two  men  at  the 
top  lifted  them  from  my  arms.  The  coach  was  broken, 
and  when  I  climbed  to  the  road,  John,  Dawson,  and  myself 
held  a  council  of  war  against  the  storm.  Dawson  said 
we  were  three  good  miles  from  Rowsley,  and  that  he  knew 
of  no  house  nearer  than  the  village  at  which  we  could 
find  shelter.  We  could  not  stand  in  the  road  and  freeze, 
so  I  got  the  blankets  and  robes  from  the  coach  and  made 
riding  pads  for  Dorothy  and  Madge.  These  we  strapped 
upon  the  broad  backs  of  the  coach  horses,  and  then  as 
sisted  the  ladies  to  mount.  I  walked  by  the  side  of  Madge, 
and  John  performed  the  same  agreeable  duty  for  Dorothy. 
Dawson  went  ahead  of  us,  riding  my  horse  and  leading 
John's;  and  thus  we  travelled  to  Rowsley,  half  dead  and 
nearly  frozen,  over  the  longest  three  miles  in  the  kingdom. 

John  left  us  before  entering  the  village,  and  took  the 
road  to  Rutland,  intending  to  stop  for  the  night  at  a  cot 
tage  two  miles  distant,  upon  his  father's  estates.  I  was  to 
follow  Sir  John  when  the  ladies  were  safely  lodged  at  The 
Peacock. 


DANGEROUS  TRIP  TO  DERBY-TOWN    127 

It  was  agreed  between  us  that  nothing  should  be  said 
concerning  the  presence  of  any  man  save  Dawson  and  my 
self  in  our  party. 

When  John  left  us,  I  rode  to  The  Peacock  with  Dorothy 
and  Madge,  and  while  I  was  bidding  them  good-by  my 
violent  cousin,  Sir  George,  entered  the  inn.  Dorothy  ran 
to  her  father  and  briefly  related  the  adventures  of  the  night, 
dwelling  with  undeserved  emphasis  upon  the  help  I  had 
rendered.  She  told  her  father  —  the  statement  was  liter 
ally  true  —  that  she  had  met  me  at  the  Royal  Arms,  where 
I  was  stopping,  and  that  she  had,  through  fear  of  the  storm 
and  in  dread  of  highwaymen,  asked  me  to  ride  beside  their 
coach  to  Rowsley. 

When  I  saw  Sir  George  enter  the  room,  I  expected  to 
have  trouble  with  him ;  but  after  he  had  spoken  with  Doro 
thy,  much  to  my  surprise,  he  offered  me  his  hand  and  said: — 

"  I  thank  you,  Malcolm,  for  the  help  you  have  rendered 
my  girls,  and  I  am  glad  you  have  come  back  to  us." 

"  I  have  not  come  back  to  you,  Sir  George,"  said  I,  with 
holding  my  hand.  "  I  met  Mistress  Vernon  and  Lady 
Madge  at  the  Royal  Arms,  and  escorted  them  to  Rowsley 
for  reasons  which  she  has  just  given  to  you.  I  was  about 
to  depart  when  you  entered." 

"Tut,  tut!  Malcolm,  you  will  come  with  us  to  Haddon 
Hall." 

"To  be  ordered  away  again,  Sir  George?"  I  asked. 

"  I  did  not  order  you  to  go.  You  left  in  a  childish  fit  of 
anger.  Why  in  the  devil's  name  did  you  run  away  so 
quickly  ?  Could  you  not  have  given  a  man  time  to  cool 
off  ?  You  treated  me  very  badly,  Malcolm." 

"  Sir  George,  you  certainly  know  —  " 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  sort.  Now  I  want  not  another 
word  from  you.  Damme !  I  say,  not  another  word.  If  I 
ever  ordered  you  to  leave  Haddon  Hall,  I  didn't  know  what 
I  was  doing,"  cried  Sir  George,  heartily. 


128  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  But  you  may  again  not  know,"  said  I. 

"  Now,  Malcolm,  don't  be  a  greater  fool  than  I  was.  If 
I  say  I  did  not  order  you  to  leave  Haddon  Hall,  can't  you 
take  me  at  my  word  ?  My  age  and  my  love  for  you  should 
induce  you  to  let  me  ease  my  conscience,  if  I  can.  If  the 
same  illusion  should  ever  come  over  you  again  —  that  is,  if 
you  should  ever  again  imagine  that  I  am  ordering  you  to 
leave  Haddon  Hall  —  well,  just  tell  me  to  go  to  the  devil. 
I  have  been  punished  enough  already,  man.  Come  home 
with  us.  Here  is  Dorothy,  whom  I  love  better  than  I  love 
myself.  In  anger  I  might  say  the  same  thing  to  her  that 
I  said  to  you,  but —  Nonsense,  Malcolm,  don't  be  a  fool. 
Come  home  with  us.  Haddon  is  your  home  as  freely  as 
it  is  the  home  of  Dorothy,  Madge,  and  myself." 

The  old  gentleman's  voice  trembled,  and  I  could  not  with 
stand  the  double  force  of  his  kindness  and  my  desire.  So 
it  came  about  that  when  Madge  held  out  her  fair  hand  ap- 
pealingly  to  me,  and  when  Dorothy  said,  "  Please  come 
home  with  us,  Cousin  Malcolm,"  I  offered  my  hand  to  Sir 
George,  and  with  feeling  said,  "  Let  us  make  this  promise 
to  each  other  :  that  nothing  hereafter  shall  come  between 
us." 

"  I  gladly  promise,"  responded  the  generous,  impulsive 
old  man.  "  Dorothy,  Madge,  and  you  are  all  in  this  world 
whom  I  love.  Nothing  shall  make  trouble  between  us. 
Whatever  happens,  we  will  each  forgive." 

The  old  gentleman  was  in  his  kindest,  softest  mood. 

"  Let  us  remember  the  words,"  said  I. 

"  I  give  my  hand  and  my  word  upon  it,"  cried  Sir 
George. 

How  easy  it  is  to  stake  the  future  upon  a  present  im 
pulse.  But  when  the  time  for  reckoning  comes, — when  the 
future  becomes  the  present,  —  it  is  sometimes  hard  to  pay 
the  priceless  present  for  the  squandered  past. 

Next  morning  we  all  rode  home  to  Haddon, — how  sweet 


DANGEROUS  TRIP  TO  DERBY-TOWN    129 

the  words  sound  even  at  this  distance  of  time! — and  there 
was  rejoicing  in  the  Hall  as  if  the  prodigal  had  returned. 

In  the  evening  I  came  upon  Madge  unawares.  She 
was  softly  singing  a  plaintive  little  love  song.  I  did  not 
disturb  her,  and  as  I  stole  away  again  I  said  to  myself, 
"  God  is  good."  A  realization  of  that  great  truth  had  of 
late  been  growing  upon  me.  When  once  we  thoroughly 
learn  it,  life  takes  on  a  different  color. 


CHAPTER   VII 

TRIBULATION  IN  HADDON 

AFTER  I  had  left  Haddon  at  Sir  George's  tempestu 
ous  order,  he  had  remained  in  a  state  of  furious 
anger  against  Dorothy  and  myself  for  a  fortnight 
or  more.     But  after  her  adroit  conversation  with  him  con 
cerning  the  Stanley  marriage,  wherein  she  neither  promised 
nor  refused,  and  after  she  learned  that  she  could  more 
easily  cajole  her  father  than  command  him,  Dorothy  easily 
ensconced  herself  again  in  his  warm  heart,  and  took  me 
into  that  capacious  abode  along  with  her. 

Then  came  the  trip  to  Derby,  whereby  his  serene  Lord 
ship,  James  Stanley,  had  been  enabled  to  see  Dorothy  and 
to  fall  in  love  with  her  winsome  beauty,  and  whereby  I  was 
brought  back  to  Haddon.  Thereafter  came  events  crowd 
ing  so  rapidly  one  upon  the  heels  of  another  that  I  scarce 
know  where  to  begin  the  telling  of  them.  I  shall  not  stop 
to  say,  "  Sir  George  told  me  this,"  or  "  Madge,  Dorothy,  or 
John  told  me  that,"  but  I  shall  write  as  if  I  had  personal 
knowledge  of  all  that  happened.  After  all,  the  important 
fact  is  that  I  know  the  truth  concerning  matters  whereof  I 
write,  and  of  that  you  may  rest  with  surety. 

The  snow  lay  upon  the  ground  for  a  fortnight  after  the 
storm  in  which  we  rode  from  Derby,  but  at  the  end  of  that 
time  it  melted,  and  the  sun  shone  with  the  brilliancy  and 
warmth  of  springtide.  So  warm  and  genial  was  the  weather 
that  the  trees,  flowers,  and  shrubs  were  cozened  into  bud- 

13° 


TRIBULATION    IN    HADDON        131 

ding  forth.  The  buds  were  withered  by  a  killing  frost 
which  came  upon  us  later  in  the  season  at  a  time  when 
the  spring  should  have  been  abroad  in  all  her  graciousness, 
and  that  year  was  called  the  year  of  the  leafless  summer. 

One  afternoon  Sir  George  received  a  distinguished  guest 
in  the  person  of  the  Earl  of  Derby,  and  the  two  old  gentle 
men  remained  closeted  together  for  several  hours.  That 
night  at  supper,  after  the  ladies  had  risen  from  table,  Sir 
George  dismissed  the  servants  saying  that  he  wished  to 
speak  to  me  in  private.  I  feared  that  he  intended  again 
bringing  forward  the  subject  of  marriage  with  Dorothy, 
but  he  soon  relieved  my  mind. 

"  The  Earl  of  Derby  was  here  to-day.  He  has  asked 
for  Doll's  hand  in  marriage  with  his  eldest  son  and  heir, 
Lord  James  Stanley,  and  I  have  granted  the  request." 

"  Indeed,"  I  responded,  with  marvellous  intelligence.  I 
could  say  nothing  more,  but  I  thought  —  in  truth  I  knew — 
that  it  did  not  lie  within  the  power  of  any  man  in  or  out  of 
England  to  dispose  of  Dorothy  Vernon's  hand  in  marriage 
to  Lord  James  Stanley.  Her  father  might  make  a  mur 
deress  out  of  her,  but  Countess  of  Derby,  never. 

Sir  George  continued,  "  The  general  terms  of  the  mar 
riage  contract  have  been  agreed  upon  by  the  earl  and  me, 
and  the  lawyers  will  do  the  rest." 

"  What  is  your  feeling  in  the  matter  ? "  I  asked  aim 
lessly. 

"My  feeling?"  cried  Sir  George.  "Why,  sir,  my  feel 
ing  is  that  the  girl  shall  marry  Stanley  just  as  soon  as 
arrangements  can  be  made  for  the  wedding  ceremony. 
The  young  fellow,  it  seems,  saw  Doll  at  Derby-town  the 
day  you  came  home,  and  since  then  he  is  eager,  his  father 
tells  me,  for  the  union.  He  is  coming  to  see  her  when  I 
give  my  permission,  and  I  will  send  him  word  at  as  early  a 
date  as  propriety  will  admit.  I  must  not  let  them  be  seen 
together  too  soon,  you  know.  There  might  be  a  hitch  in 


132  DOROTHY    VERNON 

the  marriage  negotiations.  The  earl  is  a  tight  one  in 
business  matters,  and  might  drive  a  hard  bargain  with 
me  should  I  allow  his  son  to  place  Doll  in  a  false  position 
before  the  marriage  contract  is  signed."  He  little  knew 
how  certainly  Dorothy  herself  would  avoid  that  disaster. 

He  took  a  long  draught  from  his  mug  of  toddy  and 
winked  knowingly  at  me,  saying,  "  I  am  too  wise  for  that." 

"  Have  you  told  Dorothy  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  I  have  not  exactly  told  her.  I  had 
a  talk  with  her  a  few  days  ago  on  the  subject,  though  the 
earl  and  I  had  not,  at  that  time,  entirely  agreed  upon  the 
terms,  and  I  did  not  know  that  we  should  agree.  But  I 
told  her  of  the  pending  negotiations,  because  I  wished  to 
prepare  her  for  the  signing  of  the  contract ;  and  also,  by 
gad,  Malcolm,  I  wanted  to  make  the  girl  understand  at 
the  outset  that  I  will  have  no  trifling  with  my  commands 
in  this  matter.  I  made  that  feature  of  the  case  very 
plain,  you  may  rest  assured.  She  understands  me  fully, 
and  although  at  first  she  was  a  little  inclined  to  fight,  she 
soon  —  she  soon  —  well,  she  knuckled  under  gracefully 
when  she  found  she  must." 

"  Did  she  consent  to  the  marriage  ?  "  I  asked,  well  know 
ing  that  even  if  she  had  consented  in  words,  she  had  no 
thought  of  doing  so  in  deed. 

"  Y-e-s,"  returned  Sir  George,  hesitatingly. 

"I  congratulate  you,"  I  replied. 

"  I  shall  grieve  to  lose  Doll,"  the  old  man  slowly  con 
tinued  with  perceptible  signs  of  emotion.  "  I  shall  grieve 
to  lose  my  girl,  but  I  am  anxious  to  have  the  wedding 
over.  You  see,  Malcolm,  of  late  I  have  noticed  signs  of 
wilfulness  in  Doll  that  can  be  more  easily  handled  by  a 
husband  than  by  a  father.  Marriage  and  children  anchor 
a  woman,  you  know.  In  truth,  I  have  opened  my  eyes 
to  the  fact  that  Doll  is  growing  dangerous.  I 'gad,  the 
other  day  I  thought  she  was  a  child,  but  suddenly  I  learn 


TRIBULATION    IN    HADDON       133 

she  is  a  woman.  I  had  not  before  noticed  the  change. 
Beauty  and  wilfulness,  such  as  the  girl  has  of  late  devel 
oped,  are  powers  not  to  be  underestimated  by  wise  men. 
There  is  hell  in  them,  Malcolm,  I  tell  you  there  is  hell  in 
them."  Sir  George  meditatively  snuffed  the  candle  with 
his  fingers  and  continued  :  "  If  a  horse  once  learns  that  he 
can  kick  —  sell  him.  Only  yesterday,  as  I  said,  Doll  was 
a  child,  and  now,  by  Jove,  she  is  a  full-blown  woman,  and 
I  catch  myself  standing  in  awe  of  her  and  calling  her 
Dorothy.  Yes,  damme,  standing  in  awe  of  my  own  child ! 
That  will  never  do,  you  know.  What  has  wrought  the 
change  ?  And,  after  all,  what  is  the  change  ?  I  can't 
define  it,  but  there  has  been  a  great  one." 

He  was  in  a  revery  and  spoke  more  to  himself  than  to 
me.  "Yesterday  she  was  my  child  —  she  was  a  child,  and 
now  —  and  now  —  she  is  —  she  is  —  Why  the  devil  didn't 
you  take  her,  Malcolm  ? "  cried  the  old  man,  awakening. 
"  But  there,  never  mind  ;  that  is  all  past  and  gone,  and  the 
future  Earl  of  Derby  will  be  a  great  match  for  her." 

"Do  you  know  the  future  Earl  of  Derby?"  I  asked. 
"  Have  you  ever  seen  him  ?  " 

"  No,"  Sir  George  replied.  "  I  hear  he  is  rather  wild 
and  uncouth,  but  —  " 

"  My  dear  cousin,'  said  I,  interrupting  him,  "  he  is 
a  vulgar,  drunken  clown,  whose  associates  have  always 
been  stable  boys,  tavern  maids,  and  those  who  are  worse 
than  either." 

"  What  ? "  cried  Sir  George,  hotly,  the  liquor  having 
reached  his  brain.  "  You  won't  have  Doll  yourself,  and 
you  won't  consent  to  another  —  damme,  would  you  have 
the  girl  wither  into  spinsterhood  ?  How,  sir,  dare  you 
interfere  ? " 

"  I  withdraw  all  I  said,  Sir  George,"  I  replied  has 
tily.  "  I  have  not  a  word  to  say  against  the  match.  I 
thought  — 


i34  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Well,  damn  you,  sir,  don't  think." 

"You  said  you  wished  to  consult  me  about  the  affair, 
and  I  supposed — " 

"  Don't  suppose  either,"  replied  Sir  George,  sullenly. 
"  Supposing  and  thinking  have  hanged  many  a  man.  I 
didn't  wish  to  consult  you.  I  simply  wanted  to  tell  you 
of  the  projected  marriage."  Then  after  a  moment  of  half- 
maudlin,  sullen  silence  he  continued,  "  Go  to  bed,  Mal 
colm,  go  to  bed,  or  we'll  be  quarrelling  again." 

I  was  glad  enough  to  go  to  bed,  for  my  cousin  was  grow 
ing  drunk,  and  drink  made  a  demon  of  this  man,  whose 
violence  when  sober  was  tempered  by  a  heart  full  of  ten 
derness  and  love. 

Next  morning  Sir  George  was  feeling  irritable  from 
the  effects  of  the  brandy  he  had  drunk  over  night.  At 
breakfast,  in  the  presence  of  Lady  Crawford,  Madge,  and 
myself,  he  abruptly  informed  Dorothy  that  he  was  about 
to  give  that  young  goddess  to  Lord  James  Stanley  for  his 
wife.  He  told  her  of  the  arrangement  he  had  made  the 
day  before  with  the  Earl  of  Derby.  Lady  Crawford 
looked  toward  her  brother  in  surprise,  and  Madge  pushed 
her  chair  a  little  way  back  from  the  table  with  a  startled 
movement.  Dorothy  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  eyes  flashing 
fire  and  her  breast  rising  and  falling  like  the  storm-wrought 
pulsing  of  the  sea.  I  coughed  warningly  and  placed  my 
finger  on  my  lips,  making  the  sign  of  silence  to  Dorothy. 
The  girl  made  a  wondrous  and  beautiful  struggle  against 
her  wrath,  and  in  a  moment  all  signs  of  ill-temper  dis 
appeared,  and  her  face  took  on  an  expression  of  sweet 
meekness  which  did  not  belong  there  of  right.  She 
quietly  sat  down  again,  and  when  I  looked  at  her,  I  would 
have  sworn  that  Griselda  in  the  flesh  was  sitting  opposite 
me.  Sir  George  was  right.  "  Ways  such  as  the  girl  had 
of  late  developed  were  dangerous."  Hell  was  in  them  to 
an  extent  little  dreamed  of  by  her  father.  Breakfast  was 


TRIBULATION    IN    HADDON       135 

finished  in  silence.  Dorothy  did  not  come  down  to  dinner 
at  noon,  but  Sir  George  did  not  mark  her  absence.  At 
supper  her  place  was  still  vacant. 

"  Where  is  Doll  ?  "  cried  Sir  George,  angrily.  He  had 
been  drinking  heavily  during  the  afternoon.  "  Where  is 
Doll  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  She  is  on  the  terrace,"  answered  Madge.  "  She  said 
she  did  not  want  supper." 

"  Tell  your  mistress  to  come  to  supper,"  said  Sir  George, 
speaking  to  one  of  the  servants.  "  You  will  find  her  on 
the  terrace." 

The  servant  left  the  room,  but  soon  returned,  saying  that 
Mistress  Dorothy  wanted  no  supper. 

"  Tell  her  to  come  to  the  table  whether  she  wants 
supper  or  not.  Tell  her  I  will  put  a  stop  to  her  moping 
about  the  place  like  a  surly  vixen,"  growled  Sir  George. 

"  Don't  send  such  a  message  by  a  servant,"  pleaded 
Lady  Crawford. 

"  Then  take  it  to  her  yourself,  Dorothy,"  exclaimed  her 
brother. 

Dorothy  returned  with  her  aunt  and  meekly  took  her 
place  at  the  table. 

"  I  will  have  none  of  your  moping  and  pouting,"  said 
Sir  George,  as  Dorothy  was  taking  her  chair. 

The  girl  made  no  reply,  but  she  did  not  eat. 

"  Eat  your  supper,"  her  father  commanded.  "  I  tell 
you  I  will  have  no  — 

"  You  would  not  have  me  eat  if  I  am  not  hungry, 
would  you,  father  ?  "  she  asked  softly. 

"  I'd  have  you  hungry,  you  perverse  wench." 

"  Then  make  me  an  appetite,"  returned  the  girl.  I 
never  heard  more  ominous  tones  fall  from  human  lips. 
They  betokened  a  mood  in  which  one  could  easily  do 
murder  in  cold  blood,  and  I  was  surprised  that  Sir  George 
did  not  take  warning  and  remain  silent. 


136  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  I  cannot  make  an  appetite  for  you,  fool,"  he  replied 
testily. 

"  Then  you  cannot  make  me  eat,"  retorted  Dorothy. 

"  Ah,  you  would  answer  me,  would  you,  you  brazen, 
insolent  huzzy,"  cried  her  father,  angrily. 

Dorothy  held  up  her  hand  warningly  to  Sir  George,  and 
uttered  the  one  word,  "Father."  Her  voice  sounded  like 
the  clear,  low  ring  of  steel  as  I  have  heard  it  in  the  stillness 
of  sunrise  during  a  duel  to  the  death.  Madge  gently  placed 
her  hand  in  Dorothy's,  but  the  caress  met  no  response. 

"  Go  to  your  room,"  answered  Sir  George. 

Dorothy  rose  to  her  feet  and  spoke  calmly :  "  I  have 
not  said  that  I  would  disobey  you  in  regard  to  this  mar 
riage  which  you  have  sought  for  me ;  and  your  harshness, 
father,  grows  out  of  your  effort  to  reconcile  your  conscience 
with  the  outrage  you  would  put  upon  your  own  flesh  and 
blood  —  your  only  child." 

"  Suffering  God!  "  cried  Sir  George,  frenzied  with  anger 
and  drink.  "  Am  I  to  endure  such  insolence  from  my 
own  child  ?  The  lawyers  will  be  here  to-morrow.  The  con 
tract  will  be  signed,  and,  thank  God,  I  shall  soon  be  rid  of 
you.  I'll  place  you  in  the  hands  of  one  who  will  break  your 
damnable  will  and  curb  your  vixenish  temper."  Then  he 
turned  to  Lady  Crawford.  "  Dorothy,  if  there  is  anything 
to  do  in  the  way  of  gowns  and  women's  trumpery  in  prepa 
ration  for  the  wedding,  begin  at  once,  for  the  ceremony  shall 
come  off  within  a  fortnight." 

This  was  beyond  Dorothy's  power  to  endure.  Madge 
felt  the  storm  coming  and  clutched  her  by  the  arm  in 
an  effort  to  stop  her,  but  nothing  could  have  done  that. 

"  I  marry  Lord  Stanley  ? "  she  asked  in  low,  bell-like 
tones,  full  of  contempt  and  disdain.  "  Marry  that  crea 
ture  ?  Father,  you  don't  know  me." 

"By  God,  I  know  myself,"  retorted  Sir  George,  "and 
I  say  —  " 


I    WILL   OPEN   THE   VEINS    IN   THIS   ARM.'" 


TRIBULATION    IN    HADDON       137 

"  Now  hear  me,  father,"  she  interrupted  in  a  manner 
that  silenced  even  him.  She  bent  forward,  resting  one 
fair  hand  upon  the  table,  while  she  held  out  her  other 
arm  bared  to  the  elbow.  "  Hear  what  I  say  and  take  it 
for  the  truth  as  if  it  had  come  from  Holy  Writ.  I  will  open 
the  veins  in  this  arm  and  will  strew  my  blood  in  a  gapless 
circle  around  Haddon  Hall  so  that  you  shall  tread  upon 
it  whenever  you  go  forth  into  the  day  or  into  the  night 
before  I  will  marry  the  drunken  idiot  with  whom  you 
would  curse  me.  Ay,  I  will  do  more.  I  will  kill  you, 
if  need  be,  should  you  try  to  force  him  on  me.  Now, 
father,  we  understand  each  other.  At  least  you  cannot 
fail  to  understand  me.  For  the  last  time  I  warn  you. 
Beware  of  me." 

She  gently  pushed  the  chair  back  from  the  table,  quietly 
adjusted  the  sleeve  which  she  had  drawn  upward  from  her 
wrist,  and  slowly  walked  out  of  the  room,  softly  humming 
the  refrain  of  a  roundelay.  There  was  no  trace  of  excite 
ment  about  the  girl.  Her  brain  was  acting  with  the  ease 
and  precision  of  a  perfectly  constructed  machine.  Sir 
George,  by  his  violence  and  cruelty,  had  made  a  fiend  of 
this  strong,  passionate,  tender  heart.  That  was  all. 

The  supper,  of  course,  was  quickly  finished,  and  the 
ladies  left  the  room. 

Sir  George  took  to  his  bottle  and  remained  with  it  till 
his  servants  put  him  to  bed.  I  slipped  away  from  him 
and  smoked  a  pipe  in  front  of  the  kitchen  fire.  Then  I 
went  early  to  my  bed  in  Eagle  Tower. 

Dorothy  went  to  her  apartments.  There  she  lay  upon 
her  bed,  and  for  a  time  her  heart  was  like  flint.  Soon 
she  thought  of  her  precious  golden  heart  pierced  with 
a  silver  arrow,  and  tears  came  to  her  eyes  as  she  drew 
the  priceless  treasure  from  her  breast  and  breathed  upon 
it  a  prayer  to  the  God  of  love  for  help.  Her  heart  was 
soft  again,  soft  only  as  hers  could  be,  and  peace  came 


138  DOROTHY    VERNON 

to  her  as  she  pressed  John's  golden  heart  to  her  lips  and 
murmured  over  and  over  the  words,  "  My  love,  my  love, 
my  love,"  and  murmuring  fell  asleep. 

I  wonder  how  many  of  the  countless  women  of  this 
world  found  peace,  comfort,  and  ecstasy  in  breathing  those 
magic  words  yesterday?  How  many  have  found  them 
to-day  ?  How  many  will  find  them  to-morrow  ?  No  one 
can  tell ;  but  this  I  know,  they  come  to  every  woman  at 
some  time  in  her  life,  righteously  or  unrighteously,  as  surely 
as  her  heart  pulses. 

That  evening  Jennie  Faxton  bore  a  letter  to  John, 
informing  him  of  the  projected  Stanley  marriage.  It 
asked  him  to  meet  the  writer  at  Bowling  Green  Gate, 
and  begged  him  to  help  her  if  he  could. 

The  small  and  intermittent  remnants  of  conscience,  sense 
of  duty,  and  caution  which  still  remained  in  John's  head  — 
I  will  not  say  in  John's  heart,  for  that  was  full  to  over 
flowing  with  something  else  —  were  quickly  banished  by 
the  unwelcome  news  in  Dorothy's  letter.  His  first  impulse 
was  to  kill  Stanley ;  but  John  Manners  was  not  an  assassin, 
and  a  duel  would  make  public  all  he  wished  to  conceal. 
He  wished  to  conceal,  among  other  things,  his  presence  at 
Rutland.  He  had  two  reasons  for  so  desiring.  First  in 
point  of  time  was  the  urgent  purpose  with  which  he  had 
come  to  Derbyshire.  That  purpose  was  to  further  a  plan 
for  the  rescue  of  Mary  Stuart  and  to  bring  her  incognito 
to  Rutland  Castle  as  a  refuge  until  Elizabeth  could  be  per 
suaded  to  receive  her.  Of  this  plan  I  knew  nothing  till 
after  the  disastrous  attempt  to  carry  it  out,  of  which  I 
shall  hereafter  tell  you.  The  other  reason  why  John 
wished  his  presence  at  Rutland  unknown  was  that  if  he 
were  supposed  to  be  in  London,  no  one  would  suspect  him 
of  knowing  Dorothy  Vernon. 

You  must  remember  there  had  been  no  overt  love- 
making  between  John  and  Dorothy  up  to  that  time.  The 


TRIBULATION    IN    HADDON       139 

scene  at  the  gate  approached  perilously  near  it,  but  the 
line  between  concealment  and  confession  had  not  been 
crossed.  Mind  you,  I  say  there  had  been  no  love-making 
between  them.  While  Dorothy  had  gone  as  far  in  that 
direction  as  a  maiden  should  dare  go  —  and  to  tell  the 
exact  truth,  a  great  deal  farther  —  John  had  remained  al 
most  silent  for  reasons  already  given  you.  He  also  felt 
a  fear  of  the  girl,  and  failed  to  see  in  her  conduct  those 
signs  of  intense  love  which  would  have  been  plainly  dis 
cernible  had  not  his  perceptions  been  blinded  by  the  fury 
of  his  own  infatuation.  He  had  placed  a  curb  on  his  passion 
and  did  not  really  know  its  strength  and  power  until  he 
learned  that  another  man  was  soon  to  possess  the  girl  he 
loved.  Then  life  held  but  one  purpose  for  him.  Thus, 
you  see  that  when  Dorothy  was  moaning,  "  My  love,  my 
love,"  and  was  kissing  the  golden  heart,  she  was  taking 
a  great  deal  for  granted.  Perhaps,  however,  she  better 
understood  John's  feeling  for  her  than  did  he  himself.  A 
woman's  sixth  sense,  intuition,  is  a  great  help  to  her  in 
such  cases.  Perhaps  the  girl  knew  with  intuitive  con 
fidence  that  her  passion  was  returned ;  and  perhaps  at 
first  she  found  John's  receptive  mode  of  wooing  sweeter 
far  than  an  aggressive  attack  would  have  been.  It  may 
be  also  there  was  more  of  the  serpent's  cunning  than 
of  reticence  in  John's  conduct.  He  knew  well  the  ways 
of  women,  and  perhaps  he  realized  that  if  he  would  allow 
Dorothy  to  manage  the  entire  affair  she  would  do  his  woo 
ing  for  him  much  better  than  he  could  do  it  for  himself. 
If  you  are  a  man,  try  the  plan  upon  the  next  woman  whom 
you  seek  to  win.  If  she  happens  to  be  one  who  has  full 
confidence  in  her  charms,  you  will  be  surprised  at  the 
result.  Women  lacking  that  confidence  are  restrained  by 
fear  and  doubt.  But  in  no  case  have  I  much  faith  in  the 
hammer-and-tongs  process  at  the  opening  of  a  campaign. 
Later  on,  of  course  —  but  you  doubtless  are  quite  as  well 


140  DOROTHY    VERNON 

informed  concerning  this  important  subject  as  I.  There 
is,  however,  so  much  blundering  in  that  branch  of  science 
that  I  have  a  mind  to  endow  a  college  at  Oxford  or  at 
Paris  in  which  shall  be  taught  the  gentle,  universally 
needed  art  of  making  love.  What  a  noble  attendance 
such  a  college  would  draw.  But  I  have  wandered  wo- 
fully  from  my  story. 

I  must  go  back  a  short  time  in  my  narrative.  A  few 
days  before  my  return  to  Haddon  Hall  the  great  iron  key 
to  the  gate  in  the  wall  east  of  Bowling  Green  Hill  was 
missed  from  the  forester's  closet  where  it  had  hung  for  a 
century  or  more.  Bowling  Green  Hill,  as  you  know,  is 
eastward  from  Haddon  Hall  a  distance  of  the  fourth  part 
of  a  mile,  and  the  gate  is  east  of  the  hill  about  the  same 
distance  or  less.  A  wall  is  built  upon  the  east  line  of  the 
Haddon  estate,  and  east  of  the  wall  lies  a  great  trackless 
forest  belonging  to  the  house  of  Devonshire.  In  olden 
times  there  had  been  a  road  from  Bakewell  to  Rowsley 
along  the  east  side  of  the  wall ;  but  before  Sir  George's 
seizin  the  road  had  been  abandoned  and  the  gate  was  not 
used.  It  stood  in  a  secluded,  unfrequented  spot,  and  Dor 
othy  thought  herself  very  shrewd  in  choosing  it  for  a  tryst- 
ing-place. 

But  as  I  told  you,  one  day  the  key  was  missed.  It  was 
of  no  value  or  use,  and  at  first  nothing  was  thought  of  its 
loss ;  but  from  time  to  time  the  fact  that  it  could  not  be 
found  was  spoken  of  as  curious.  All  the  servants  had 
been  questioned  in  vain,  and  the  loss  of  the  key  to  Bowl 
ing  Green  Gate  soon  took  on  the  dignity  of  a  mystery  —  a 
mystery  soon  to  be  solved,  alas !  to  Dorothy's  undoing. 

The  afternoon  of  the  day  following  the  terrible  scene 
between  Sir  George  and  his  daughter  at  the  supper  table, 
Dorothy  rode  forth  alone  upon  her  mare  Dolcy.  From 
the  window  of  my  room  in  Eagle  Tower  I  saw  her  go 
down  the  west  side  of  the  Wye  toward  Rowsley.  I 


TRIBULATION    IN    HADDON       141 

ascended  to  the  roof  of  the  tower,  and  from  that  eleva 
tion  I  saw  her  cross  the  river,  and  soon  she  was  lost  to 
sight  in  the  forest.  At  that  time  I  knew  nothing  of  the 
new  trysting-place,  but  I  felt  sure  that  Dorothy  had  gone 
out  to  seek  John.  The  sun  shone  brightly,  and  its  gentle 
warmth  enticed  me  to  remain  upon  the  tower  battlements, 
to  muse,  and  to  dream.  I  fetched  my  pipe  and  tobacco 
from  my  room.  I  had  been  smoking  at  intervals  for  sev 
eral  months,  but  had  not  entirely  learned  to  like  the  weed, 
because  of  a  slight  nausea  which  it  invariably  caused  me  to 
feel.  But  I  thought  by  practice  now  and  again  to  inure 
myself  to  the  habit,  which  was  then  so  new  and  fashion 
able  among  modish  gentlemen.  While  I  smoked  I  mused 
upon  the  past  and  present,  and  tried  to  peer  into  the 
future — -a  fruitless  task  wherein  we  waste  much  valuable 
time;  a  vain  striving,  like  Eve's,  after  forbidden  knowl 
edge,  which,  should  we  possess  it,  would  destroy  the  little 
remnant  of  Eden  still  existing  on  earth.  Could  we  look 
forward  only  to  our  joys,  a  knowledge  of  the  future  might 
be  good  to  have;  but  imagine,  if  you  can,  the  horror  of 
anticipating  evils  to  come. 

After  a  short  time,  a  lotuslike  dreaminess  stole  over  me, 
and  past  and  future  seemed  to  blend  in  a  supreme  present 
of  contentment  and  rest.  Then  I  knew  I  had  wooed  and 
won  Tobacco  and  that  thenceforth  I  had  at  hand  an  ever 
ready  solace  in  time  of  trouble.  At  the  end  of  an  hour 
my  dreaming  was  disturbed  by  voices,  which  came  dis 
tinctly  up  to  me  from  the  base  of  the  tower.  I  leaned 
over  the  battlements  to  listen,  and  what  I  heard  gave  me 
alarm  and  concern  such  as  all  the  tobacco  in  the  world 
could  not  assuage.  I  looked  down  the  dizzy  heights  of 
Eagle  Tower  and  saw  Sir  George  in  conversation  with  Ben 
Shaw,  a  woodman.  I  had  not  heard  the  words  first  spoken 
between  them. 

"Ay,  ay,  Sir   George,"  said   Ben,  "they  be  there,  by 


i42  DOROTHY    VERNON 

Bowling  Green  Gate,  now.  I  saw  them  twenty  minutes 
since,  —  Mistress  Vernon  and  a  gentleman." 

"  Perhaps  the  gentleman  is  Sir  Malcolm,"  answered  my 
cousin.  I  drew  back  from  the  battlements,  and  the  wood 
man  replied,  "  Perhaps  he  be,  but  I  doubt  it." 

There  had  been  a  partial  reconciliation — sincere  on 
Sir  George's  part,  but  false  and  hollow  on  Dorothy's  — 
which  Madge  had  brought  about  between  father  and 
daughter  that  morning.  Sir  George,  who  was  sober  and 
repentant  of  his  harshness,  was  inclined  to  be  tender 
to  Dorothy,  though  he  still  insisted  in  the  matter  of  the 
Stanley  marriage.  Dorothy's  anger  had  cooled,  and  cun 
ning  had  taken  its  place.  Sir  George  had  asked  her  to 
forgive  him  for  the  hard  words  he  had  spoken,  and  she 
had  again  led  him  to  believe  that  she  would  be  dutiful  and 
obedient.  It  is  hard  to  determine,  as  a  question  of  right 
and  wrong,  whether  Dorothy  is  to  be  condemned  or  justi 
fied  in  the  woful  deception  she  practised  upon  her  father. 
To  use  a  plain,  ugly  word,  she  lied  to  him  without  hesita 
tion  or  pain  of  conscience.  Still,  we  must  remember  that, 
forty  years  ago,  girls  were  frequently  forced,  regardless 
of  cries  and  piteous  agony,  into  marriages  to  which  death 
would  have  been  preferable.  They  were  flogged  into 
obedience,  imprisoned  and  starved  into  obedience,  and 
alas !  they  were  sometimes  killed  in  the  course  of  punish 
ment  for  disobedience  by  men  of  Sir  George's  school  and 
temper.  I  could  give  you  at  least  one  instance  in  which 
a  fair  girl  met  her  death  from  punishment  inflicted  by 
her  father  because  she  would  not  consent  to  wed  the  man 
of  his  choice.  Can  we  blame  Dorothy  if  she  would  lie 
or  rob  or  do  murder  to  avoid  a  fate  which  to  her  would 
have  been  worse  than  death  ?  When  you  find  yourself 
condemning  her,  now  or  hereafter  in  this  history,  if  you 
are  a  man  ask  yourself  this  question :  "  If  I  had  a  sweet 
heart  in  Dorothy's  sad  case,  should  I  not  wish  her  to  do 


TRIBULATION    IN    HADDON       143 

as  she  did  ?  Should  I  not  wish,  if  it  were  possible  by 
any  means,  that  she  should  save  herself  from  the  worst  of 
fates,  and  should  save  me  from  the  agony  of  losing  her 
to  such  a  man  as  Sir  George  had  selected  for  Dorothy's 
husband  ?  Is  it  not  a  sin  to  disobey  the  law  of  self-preser 
vation  actively  or  passively  ? "  Answer  these  questions  as 
you  choose.  As  for  myself,  I  say  God  bless  Dorothy  for 
lying.  Perhaps  I  am  in  error.  Perhaps  I  am  not.  I  but 
tell  you  the  story  of  Dorothy  as  it  happened,  and  I  am  a 
poor  hand  at  solving  questions  of  right  and  wrong  where 
a  beautiful  woman  is  concerned.  To  my  thinking,  she 
usually  is  in  the  right.  In  any  case,  she  is  sure  to  have  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt. 

When  Sir  George  heard  the  woodman's  story,  he  started 
hurriedly  toward  Bowling  Green  Gate. 

Now  I  shall  tell  you  of  Dorothy's  adventures  after  I  saw 
her  cross  the  Wye. 

When  she  reached  the  gate,  John  was  waiting  for  her. 

"Ah,  Sir  John,  I  am  so  glad  you  are  here.  That  is,  I 
am  glad  you  are  here  before  I  arrived  —  good  even,"  said 
the  girl,  confusedly.  Her  heart  again  was  beating  in  a 
provoking  manner,  and  her  breath  would  not  come  with 
ease  and  regularity.  The  rapid  progress  of  the  malady 
with  which  she  was  afflicted  or  blessed  was  plainly  dis 
cernible  since  the  last  meeting  with  my  friend,  Sir  John. 
That  is,  it  would  have  been  plain  to  any  one  but  John, 
whose  ailment  had  taken  a  fatal  turn  and  had  progressed 
to  the  ante-mortem  state  of  blindness.  By  the  help  of 
the  stimulating  hope  and  fear  which  Dorothy's  letter  had 
brought  to  him,  he  had  planned  an  elaborate  conversation, 
and  had  determined  to  speak  decisive  words.  He  hoped 
to  receive  from  her  the  answer  for  which  he  longed ;  but 
his  heart  and  breath  seemed  to  have  conspired  with  Dorothy 
to  make  intercommunication  troublesome. 

"  I  received  your  gracious  letter,  Mistress  Vernon,  and  I 


144  DOROTHY    VERNON 

thank  you.  I  was  —  I  am  —  that  is,  my  thanks  are  more 
than  I  —  I  can  express." 

"  So  I  see,"  said  the  girl,  half  amused  at  John's  condi 
tion,  although  it  was  but  little  worse  than  her  own.  This 
universal  malady,  love,  never  takes  its  blind  form  in  women. 
It  opens  their  eyes.  Under  its  influence  they  can  see  the 
truth  through  a  millstone.  The  girl's  heart  jumped  with 
joy  when  she  saw  John's  truth-telling  manner,  and  com 
posure  quickly  came  to  her  relief,  though  she  still  feigned 
confusion  because  she  wished  him  to  see  the  truth  in  her 
as  she  had  seen  it  in  him.  She  well  knew  of  his  blindness, 
and  had  almost  begun  to  fear  lest  she  would  eventually  be 
compelled  to  tell  him  in  words  that  which  she  so  ardently 
wished  him  to  see  for  himself.  She  thought  John  was  the 
blindest  of  his  sex ;  but  she  was,  to  a  certain  extent,  mis 
taken.  John  was  blind,  as  you  already  know,  but  his  reti 
cence  was  not  all  due  to  a  lack  of  sight.  He  at  least  had 
reached  the  condition  of  a  well-developed  hope.  He  hoped 
the  girl  cared  for  him.  He  would  have  fully  believed  it 
had  it  not  been  for  the  difficulty  he  found  in  convincing 
himself  that  a  goddess  like  Dorothy  could  care  for  a  man 
so  unworthy  as  himself.  Most  modest  persons  are  self- 
respecting.  That  was  John's  condition  ;  he  was  not  vain. 

"Jennie  brought  me  your  letter  also,"  said  the  girJ, 
laughing  because  she  was  happy,  though  her  merriment 
somewhat  disconcerted  John. 

"  It  told  me,"  she  continued,  "  that  you  would  come.  I 
have  it  here  in  my  pocket  —  and  —  and  the  gate  key," 
She  determined  this  time  to  introduce  the  key  early  in  the 
engagement.  "  But  I  feared  you  might  not  want  to  come." 
The  cunning,  the  boldness,  and  the  humility  of  the  serpent 
was  in  the  girl.  "  That  is,  you  know,  I  thought  —  perhaps 
—  that  is,  I  feared  that  you  might  not  come.  Your  father 
might  have  been  ill,  or  you  might  have  changed  your  mind 
after  you  wrote  the  letter." 


TRIBULATION    IN    HADDON       145 

"  No,"  answered  John,  whose  face  was  beaming  with 
joy.  Here,  truly,  was  a  goddess  who  could  make  the  blind 
to  see  if  she  were  but  given  a  little  time. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  your  father  is  not  ill,  or  that  you  did 
not  change  your  mind  ?  "  asked  Dorothy,  whose  face,  as  it 
should  have  been  after  such  a  speech,  was  bent  low  while 
she  struggled  with  the  great  iron  key,  entangled  in  the 
pocket  of  her  gown. 

"  I  mean  that  I  have  not  changed  my  mind,"  said  John, 
who  felt  that  the  time  to  speak  had  come.  "  There  has 
been  no  change  in  me  other  than  a  new  access  of  eager 
ness  with  every  hour,  and  a  new  longing  to  see  you  and  to 
hear  your  voice." 

Dorothy  felt  a  great  thrill  pass  through  her  breast,  and 
she  knew  that  the  reward  of  her  labors  was  at  hand. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  self-complacent  girl,  hardly  con 
scious  of  her  words,  so  great  was  the  joyous  tumult  in  her 
heart,  "  I  should  have  known." 

There  was  another  pause,  devoted  to  the  key,  with 
bended  head.  "But  —  but  you  might  have  changed  your 
mind,"  she  continued,  "  and  I  might  not  have  known  it,  for, 
you  see,  I  did  not  know  your  former  state  of  mind ;  you 
have  never  told  me."  Her  tongue  had  led  her  further  than 
she  had  intended  to  go,  and  she  blushed  painfully,  and  I 
think,  considering  her  words,  appropriately. 

"  My  letter  told  you  my  state  of  mind.  At  least  it  told 
you  of  my  intention  to  come.  I  —  I  fear  that  I  do  not 
understand  you,"  said  John. 

"  I  mean,"  she  replied,  with  a  saucy,  fluttering  little 
laugh  as  she  looked  up  from  her  conflict  with  the  entangled 
key,  "I  mean  that  —  that  you  don't  know  what  I  mean. 
But  here  is  the  key  at  last,  and  —  and  —  you  may,  if  you 
wish,  come  to  this  side  of  the  gate." 

She  stepped  forward  to  unlock  the  gate  with  an  air  that 
seemed  to  say,  "  Now,  John,  you  shall  have  a  clear  field." 


146  DOROTHY    VERNON 

But  to  her  surprise  she  found  that  the  lock  had  been 
removed.  That  discovery  brought  back  to  John  his  wan 
dering  wits. 

"  Mistress  Dorothy,"  he  cried  in  tones  of  alarm,  "  I  must 
not  remain  here.  We  are  suspected  and  are  sure  to  be 
discovered.  Your  father  has  set  a  trap  for  us.  I  care  not 
for  myself,  but  I  would  not  bring  upon  you  the  trouble 
and  distress  which  would  surely  follow  discovery.  Let  us 
quickly  choose  another  place  and  time  of  meeting.  I  pray 
you,  sweet  lady,  meet  me  to-morrow  at  this  time  near  the 
white  cliff  back  of  Lathkil  mill.  I  have  that  to  say  to  you 
which  is  the  very  blood  of  my  heart.  I  must  now  leave 
you  at  once." 

He  took  her  hand,  and  kissing  it,  started  to  leave  through 
the  open  gate. 

The  girl  caught  his  arm  to  detain  him.  "  Say  it  now, 
John,  say  it  now.  I  have  dreamed  of  it  by  night  and 
by  day.  You  know  all,  and  I  know  all,  and  I  long  to 
hear  from  your  lips  the  words  that  will  break  down 
all  barriers  between  us."  She  had  been  carried  away  by 
the  mad  onrush  of  her  passion.  She  was  the  iron,  the 
seed,  the  cloud,  and  the  rain,  and  she  spoke  because  she 
could  not  help  it. 

"  I  will  speak,  Dorothy,  God  help  me !  God  help  me, 
I  will  speak !  "  said  John,  as  he  caught  the  girl  to  his 
breast  in  a  fierce  embrace.  "  I  love  you,  I  love  you  !  God 
Himself  only  knows  how  deeply,  how  passionately !  I  do 
not  know.  I  cannot  fathom  its  depths.  With  all  my  heart 
and  soul,  with  every  drop  of  blood  that  pulses  through  my 
veins,  I  love  you  —  I  adore  you.  Give  me  your  lips,  my 
beauty,  my  Aphrodite,  my  queen  !  " 

"There  —  they  —  are,  John, — there  they  are.  They 
are  —  all  yours  —  all  yours — now!  Oh,  God!  my  blood 
is  on  fire."  She  buried  her  face  on  his  breast  for  shame, 
that  he  might  not  see  her  burning  eyes  and  her  scarlet 


TRIBULATION    IN    HADDON       147 

cheeks.  Then  after  a  time  she  cared  not  what  he  saw, 
and  she  lifted  her  lips  to  his,  a  voluntary  offering.  The 
supreme  emotions  of  the  moment  drove  all  other  conscious 
ness  from  their  souls. 

"  Tell  me,  Dorothy,  that  you  will  be  my  wife.  Tell  me, 
tell  me  !  "  cried  John. 

"  I  will,  I  will,  oh,  how  gladly,  how  gladly !  " 

"  Tell  me  that  no  power  on  earth  can  force  you  to  marry 
Lord  Stanley.  Tell  me  that  you  will  marry  no  man  but 
me  ;  that  you  will  wait  —  wait  for  me  till  — 

"  I  will  marry  no  man  but  you,  John,  no  man  but  you," 
said  the  girl,  whisperingly.  Her  head  was  thrown  back 
from  his  breast  that  she  might  look  into  his  eyes,  and  that 
he  might  see  the  truth  in  hers.  "  I  am  all  yours.  But  oh, 
John,  I  cannot  wait — I  cannot!  Do  not  ask  me  to  wait. 
It  would  kill  me.  I  wear  the  golden  heart  you  gave  me, 
John,"  she  continued,  as  she  nestled  closer  in  his  embrace. 
"  I  wear  the  golden  heart  always.  It  is  never  from  me, 
even  for  one  little  moment.  I  bear  it  always  upon  my 
heart,  John.  Here  it  is."  She  drew  from  her  breast  the 
golden  heart  and  kissed  it.  Then  she  pressed  it  to  his 
lips,  and  said :  "  I  kiss  it  twenty  times  in  the  day  and 
in  the  night;  ay,  a  hundred  times.  I  do  not  know  how 
often  ;  but  now  I  kiss  your  real  heart,  John,"  and  she  kissed 
his  breast,  and  then  stood  tiptoe  to  lift  her  lips  to  his. 

There  was  no  room  left  now  in  John's  heart  for  doubt 
that  Dorothy  Vernon  was  his  own  forever  and  forever. 
She  had  convinced  him  beyond  the  reach  of  fear  or 
doubt.  John  forgot  the  lockless  gate.  He  forgot  every 
thing  but  Dorothy,  and  cruel  time  passed  with  a  rapidity 
of  which  they  were  unconscious.  They  were,  however, 
brought  back  to  consciousness  by  hearing  a  long  blast 
from  the  forester's  bugle,  and  John  immediately  retreated 
through  the  gate. 

Dorothy  then  closed  the  gate  and  hastily  seated  herself 


148  DOROTHY  VERNON 

upon  a  stone  bench  against  the  Haddon  side  of  the  wall. 
She  quickly  assumed  an  attitude  of  listless  repose,  and 
Dolcy,  who  was  nibbling  at  the  grass  near  by,  doubtless 
supposed  that  her  mistress  had  come  to  Bowling  Green 
Gate  to  rest  because  it  was  a  secluded  place,  and  because 
she  desired  to  be  alone. 

Dorothy's  attitude  was  not  assumed  one  moment  too 
soon,  for  hardly  was  her  gown  arranged  with  due  regard  to 
carelessness  when  Sir  George's  form  rose  above  the  crest 
of  Bowling  Green  Hill.  In  a  few  minutes  he  was  standing 
in  front  of  his  daughter,  red  with  anger.  Dorothy's  face 
wore  a  look  of  calm  innocence,  which  I  believe  would 
have  deceived  Solomon  himself,  notwithstanding  that  great 
man's  experience  with  the  sex.  It  did  more  to  throw  Sir 
George  off  the  scent  than  any  words  the  girl  could  have 
spoken. 

"Who  has  been  with  you?"  demanded  Sir  George, 
angrily. 

"  When,  father  ?  "  queried  the  girl,  listlessly  resting  her 
head  against  the  wall. 

"  Now,  this  afternoon.  Who  has  been  with  you  ?  Ben 
Shaw  said  that  a  man  was  here.  He  said  that  he  saw  a 
man  with  you  less  than  half  an  hour  since." 

That  piece  of  information  was  startling  to  Dorothy,  but 
no  trace  of  surprise  was  visible  in  her  manner  or  in  her 
voice.  She  turned  listlessly  and  brushed  a  dry  leaf  from 
her  gown.  Then  she  looked  calmly  up  into  her  father's 
face  and  said  laconically,  but  to  the  point :  — 

"  Ben  lied."    To  herself  she  said,  "  Ben  shall  also  suffer." 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  Ben  lied,"  said  Sir  George.  "  I, 
myself,  saw  a  man  go  away  from  here." 

That  was  crowding  the  girl  into  close  quarters,  but  she 
did  not  flinch. 

"  Which  way  did  he  go,  father  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  fine 
show  of  carelessness  in  her  manner,  but  with  a  feeling  of 


TRIBULATION    IN    HADDON       149 

excruciating  fear  in  her  breast.  She  well  knew  the  wisdom 
of  the  maxim,  "  Never  confess." 

"  He  went  northward,"  answered  Sir  George. 

"  Inside  the  wall  ?  "  asked  Dorothy,  beginning  again  to 
breathe  freely,  for  she  knew  that  John  had  ridden  south 
ward. 

"  Inside  the  wall,  of  course,"  her  father  replied.  "  Do 
you  suppose  I  could  see  him  through  the  stone  wall  ?  One 
should  be  able  to  see  through  a  stone  wall  to  keep  good 
watch  on  you." 

"  You  might  have  thought  you  saw  him  through  the  wall," 
answered  the  girl.  "  I  sometimes  think  of  late,  father,  that 
you  are  losing  your  mind.  You  drink  too  much  brandy, 
my  dear  father.  Oh,  wouldn't  it  be  dreadful  if  you  were 
to  lose  your  mind  ? "  She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  going  to 
her  father  began  to  stroke  him  gently  with  her  hand.  She 
looked  into  his  face  with  real  affection ;  for  when  she 
deceived  him,  she  loved  him  best  as  a  partial  atonement 
for  her  ill-doing. 

"  Wouldn't  that  be  dreadful  ? "  she  continued,  while  Sir 
George  stood  lost  in  bewilderment.  "Wouldn't  that  be 
dreadful  for  my  dear  old  father  to  lose  his  mind  ?  But  I 
really  think  it  must  be  coming  to  pass.  A  great  change 
has  of  late  come  over  you,  father.  You  have  for  the  first 
time  in  your  life  been  unkind  to  me  and  suspicious.  Father, 
do  you  realize  that  you  insult  your  daughter  when  you  accuse 
her  of  having  been  in  this  secluded  place  with  a  man  ?  You 
would  punish  another  for  speaking  so  against  my  fair  name." 

"  But,  Dorothy,"  Sir  George  replied,  feeling  as  if  he  were 
in  the  wrong,  "  Ben  Shaw  said  that  he  saw  you  here  with  a 
man,  and  I  saw  a  man  pass  toward  Bakewell.  Who  was 
he  ?  I  command  you  to  tell  me  his  name." 

Dorothy  knew  that  her  father  must  have  seen  a  man 
near  the  gate,  but  who  he  was  she  could  not  imagine. 
John  surely  was  beyond  the  wall  and  well  out  of  sight  on 


DOROTHY    VERNON 

his  way  to  Rowsley  before  her  father  reached  the  crest  of 
Bowling  Green  Hill.  But  it  was  evident  that  Shaw  had 
seen  John.  Evidence  that  a  man  had  been  at  the  gate 
was  too  strong  to  be  successfully  contradicted.  Facts 
that  cannot  be  successfully  contradicted  had  better  be 
frankly  admitted.  Dorothy  sought  through  her  mind  for 
an  admission  that  would  not  admit,  and  soon  hit  upon  a 
plan  which,  shrewd  as  it  seemed  to  be,  soon  brought  her 
to  grief. 

"  Perhaps  you  saw  Cousin  Malcolm,"  said  Dorothy,  as 
the  result  of  her  mental  search.  "  He  passed  here  a  little 
time  since  and  stopped  for  a  moment  to  talk.  Perhaps  you 
saw  Malcolm,  father.  You  would  not  find  fault  with  me 
because  he  was  here,  would  you  ? " 

"Dorothy,  my  daughter,"  said  Sir  George,  hesitatingly, 
"  are  you  telling  me  the  truth  ? " 

Then  the  fair  girl  lifted  up  her  beautiful  head,  and  stand 
ing  erect  at  her  full  height  (it  pains  me  to  tell  you  this) 
said  :  "Father,  I  am  a  Vernon.  I  would  not  lie." 

Her  manner  was  so  truthlike  that  Sir  George  was  almost 
convinced. 

He  said,  "  I  believe  you." 

Her  father's  confidence  touched  her  keenly ;  but  not  to 
the  point  of  repentance,  I  hardly  need  say. 

Dorothy  then  grew  anxious  to  return  to  the  Hall  that 
she  might  prepare  me  to  answer  whatever  idle  questions 
her  father  should  put  to  me.  She  took  Dolcy's  rein,  and 
leading  the  mare  with  one  hand  while  she  rested  the  other 
upon  her  father's  arm,  walked  gayly  across  Bowling  Green 
down  to  the  Hall,  very  happy  because  of  her  lucky  es 
cape. 

But  a  lie  is  always  full  of  latent  retribution. 

I  was  sitting  in  the  kitchen,  dreamily  watching  the  huge 
fire,  when  Dorothy  and  her  father  entered. 

"  Ah,  Malcolm,  are  you  here  ? "  asked  Sir  George  in  a 


TRIBULATION    IN    HADDON       151 

peculiar  tone  of  surprise  for  which  I  could  see  no  reason. 
"  I  thought  you  were  walking." 

I  was  smoking.  I  took  my  pipe  from  my  lips  and  said, 
"  No,  I  am  helping  old  Bess  and  Jennie  with  supper." 

"  Have  you  not  been  walking  ?  "  asked  Sir  George. 

There  was  an  odd  expression  on  his  face  when  I  looked 
up  to  him,  and  I  was  surprised  at  his  persistent  inquiry 
concerning  so  trivial  a  matter.  But  Sir  George's  expres 
sion,  agitated  as  it  was,  still  was  calm  when  compared  with 
that  of  Dorothy,  who  stood  a  step  or  two  behind  her 
father.  Not  only  was  her  face  expressive,  but  her  hands, 
her  feet,  her  whole  body  were  convulsed  in  an  effort  to 
express  something  which,  for  the  life  of  me,  I  could  not 
understand.  Her  wonderful  eyes  wore  an  expression,  only 
too  readable,  of  terror  and  pleading.  She  moved  her 
hands  rapidly  and  stamped  her  foot.  During  this  panto 
mime  she  was  forming  words  with  her  lips  and  nodding  her 
head  affirmatively.  Her  efforts  at  expression  were  lost  upon 
me,  and  I  could  only  respond  with  a  blank  stare  of  aston 
ishment.  The  expression  on  my  face  caused  Sir  George 
to  turn  in  the  direction  of  my  gaze,  and  he  did  so  just  in 
time  to  catch  Dorothy  in  the  midst  of  a  mighty  pantomimic 
effort  at  mute  communication. 

"  Why  in  the  devil's  name  are  you  making  those 
grimaces  ?  "  demanded  Sir  George. 

"  I  wasn't  making  grimaces  —  I  —  I  think  I  was  about  to 
sneeze,"  replied  Dorothy. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  blind  ?  "  stormed  Sir  George.  "  Per 
haps  I  am  losing  my  mind  ?  You  are  trying  to  tell  Mal 
colm  to  say  that  he  was  with  you  at  Bowling  Green  Gate. 
Losing  my  mind,  am  I  ?  Damme,  I'll  show  you  that  if  I 
am  losing  my  mind  I  have  not  lost  my  authority  in  my  own 
house." 

"  Now,  father,  what  is  all  this  storming  about  ? "  asked 
the  girl,  coaxingly,  as  she  boldly  put  her  hands  upon  her 


i52  DOROTHY    VERNON 

father's  shoulders  and  turned  her  face  in  all  its  won 
drous  beauty  and  childish  innocence  of  expression  up  to 
his.  "Ask  Malcolm  to  tell  you  whatever  you  wish  to 
know."  She  was  sure  that  her  father  had  told  me  what 
she  had  been  so  anxious  to  communicate,  and  she  felt  cer 
tain  that  I  would  not  betray  her.  She  knew  that  I,  whose 
only  virtues  were  that  I  loved  my  friend  and  despised  a 
lie,  would  willingly  bear  false  witness  for  her  sake.  She 
was  right.  I  had  caught  the  truth  of  the  situation  from  Sir 
George,  and  I  quickly  determined  to  perjure  my  soul,  if 
need  be,  to  help  Dorothy.  I  cannot  describe  the  influence 
this  girl  at  times  exerted  over  me.  When  under  its  spell  I 
seemed  to  be  a  creature  of  her  will,  and  my  power  to  act 
voluntarily  was  paralyzed  by  a  strange  force  emanating  from 
her  marvellous  vitality.  I  cannot  describe  it.  I  tell  you 
only  the  incontestable  fact,  and  you  may  make  out  of  it 
whatever  you  can.  I  shall  again  in  the  course  of  this  his 
tory  have  occasion  to  speak  of  Dorothy's  strange  power, 
and  how  it  was  exerted  over  no  less  a  person  than  Queen 
Elizabeth. 

"  Ask  Malcolm,"  repeated  the  girl,  leaning  coaxingly 
upon  her  father's  breast.  But  I  was  saved  from  uttering 
the  lie  I  was  willing  to  tell ;  for,  in  place  of  asking  me,  as 
his  daughter  had  desired,  Sir  George  demanded  excitedly 
of  Dorothy,  "  What  have  you  in  your  pocket  that  strikes 
against  my  knee  ?  " 

"  Mother  of  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Dorothy  in  a  whisper, 
quickly  stepping  back  from  her  father  and  slowly  lifting  her 
skirt  while  she  reached  toward  her  pocket.  Her  manner 
was  that  of  one  almost  bereft  of  consciousness  by  sudden 
fright,  and  an  expression  of  helplessness  came  over  her  face 
which  filled  my  heart  with  pity.  She  stood  during  a  long 
tedious  moment  holding  with  one  hand  the  uplifted  skirt, 
while  with  the  other  she  clutched  the  key  in  her  pocket. 

"  What  have  you  in  your  pocket  ?  "  demanded  Sir  George 


TRIBULATION    IN    HADDON       153 

with  a  terrible  oath.  "  Bring  it  out,  girl.  Bring  it  out,  I 
tell  you." 

Dorothy  started  to  run  from  the  room,  but  her  father 
caught  her  by  the  wrist  and  violently  drew  her  to  him. 
"Bring  it  out,  huzzy;  it's  the  key  to  Bowling  Green  Gate. 
Ah,  I've  lost  my  mind,  have  I  ?  Blood  of  Christ !  I  have 
not  lost  my  mind  yet,  but  I  soon  shall  lose  it  at  this  rate," 
and  he  certainly  looked  as  if  he  would. 

Poor  frightened  Dorothy  was  trying  to  take  the  key 
from  her  pocket,  but  she  was  too  slow  to  please  her  angry 
father,  so  he  grasped  the  gown  and  tore  a  great  rent  whereby 
the  pocket  was  opened  from  top  to  bottom.  Dorothy  still 
held  the  key  in  her  hand,  but  upon  the  floor  lay  a  piece  of 
white  paper  which  had  fallen  out  through  the  rent  Sir 
George  had  made  in  the, gown.  He  divined  the  truth  as 
if  by  inspiration.  The  note,  he  felt  sure,  was  from  Doro 
thy's  unknown  lover.  He  did  not  move  nor  speak  for  a 
time,  and  she  stood  as  if  paralyzed  by  fear.  She  slowly 
turned  her  face  from  her  father  to  me,  and  in  a  low  tone 
spoke  my  name,  "  Malcolm."  Her  voice  was  hardly  louder 
than  a  whisper,  but  so  piteous  a  cry  for  help  I  have  never 
heard  from  human  lips.  Then  she  stooped,  intending  to 
take  the  letter  from  the  floor,  and  Sir  George  drew  back 
his  arm  as  if  he  would  strike  her  with  his  clenched  hand. 
She  recoiled  from  him  in  terror,  and  he  took  up  the  letter, 
unfolded  it,  and  began  to  read :  — 

"  Most  gracious  lady,  I  thank  you  for  your  letter,  and 
with  God's  help  I  will  meet  you  at  Bowling  Green  Gate  —  " 
The  girl  could  endure  no  more.  She  sprang  with  a  scream 
toward  her  father  and  tried  to  snatch  the  letter.  Sir  George 
drew  back,  holding  firmly  to  the  paper.  She  followed  him 
frantically,  not  to  be  thrown  off,  and  succeeded  in  clutch 
ing  the  letter.  Sir  George  violently  thrust  her  from  him. 
In  the  scuffle  that  ensued  the  letter  was  torn,  and  the  lower 
portion  of  the  sheet  remained  in  Dorothy's  hand.  She  ran 


i54  DOROTHY    VERNON 

to  the  fireplace,  intending  to  thrust  the  fragment  into  the 
fire,  but  she  feared  that  her  father  might  rescue  it  from 
the  ashes.  She  glanced  at  the  piece  of  paper,  and  saw  that 
the  part  she  had  succeeded  in  snatching  from  her  father 
bore  John's  name.  Sir  George  strode  hurriedly  across  the 
room  toward  her  and  she  ran  to  me. 

"  Malcolm  !  Malcolm  !  "  she  cried  in  terror.  The  cry  was 
like  a  shriek.  Then  I  saw  her  put  the  paper  in  her  mouth. 
When  she  reached  me  she  threw  herself  upon  my  breast 
and  clung  to  me  with  her  arms  about  my  neck.  She 
trembled  as  a  single  leaf  among  the  thousands  that  deck  a 
full-leaved  tree  may  tremble  upon  a  still  day,  moved  by  a 
convulsive  force  within  itself.  While  she  clung  to  me  her 
glorious  bust  rose  and  fell  piteously,  and  her  wondrous 
eyes  dilated  and  shone  with  a  marvellous  light.  The  ex 
pression  was  the  output  of  her  godlike  vitality,  strung  to 
its  greatest  tension.  Her  face  was  pale,  but  terror  domi 
nated  all  the  emotions  it  expressed.  Her  fear,  however, 
was  not  for  herself.  The  girl,  who  would  have  snapped 
her  fingers  at  death,  saw  in  the  discovery  which  her  father 
was  trying  to  make,  loss  to  her  of  more  than  life.  That 
which  she  had  possessed  for  less  than  one  brief  hour  was 
about  to  be  taken  from  her.  She  had  not  enjoyed  even 
one  little  moment  alone  in  which  to  brood  her  new-found 
love,  and  to  caress  the  sweet  thought  of  it.  The  girl  had 
but  a  brief  instant  of  rest  in  my  arms  till  Sir  George 
dragged  her  from  me  by  his  terrible  strength. 

"  Where  is  the  paper  ? "  he  cried  in  rage.  "  It  contained 
the  fellow's  signature." 

"  I  have  swallowed  it,  father,  and  you  must  cut  me  open 
to  find  it.  Doubtless  that  would  be  a  pleasant  task  for 
you,"  answered  Dorothy,  who  was  comparatively  calm  now 
that  she  knew  her  father  could  not  discover  John's  name. 
I  believe  Sir  George  in  his  frenzy  would  have  killed  the  girl 
had  he  then  learned  that  the  letter  was  from  John  Manners. 


TRIBULATION     IN    HADDON       155 

"  I  command  you  to  tell  me  this  fellow's  name,"  said  Sir 
George,  with  a  calmness  born  of  tempest.  Dorothy  did 
not  answer,  and  Sir  George  continued :  "  I  now  under 
stand  how  you  came  by  the  golden  heart.  You  lied  to 
me  and  told  me  that  Malcolm  had  given  it  to  you.  Lie 
upon  lie.  In  God's  name  I  swear  that  I  would  rather 
father  a  thief  than  a  liar." 

"  I  did  give  her  the  heart,  Sir  George,"  I  said,  interrupt 
ing  him.  "  It  was  my  mother's."  I  had  caught  the  lying 
infection.  But  Sir  George,  in  his  violence,  was  a  person 
to  incite  lies.  He  of  course  had  good  cause  for  his  anger. 
Dorothy  had  lied  to  him.  Of  that  there  could  be  no  doubt ; 
but  her  deception  was  provoked  by  his  own  conduct  and 
by  the  masterful  love  that  had  come  upon  her.  I  truly 
believe  that  prior  to  the  time  of  her  meeting  with  Manners 
she  had  never  spoken  an  untruth,  nor  since  that  time  I 
also  believe,  except  when  driven  to  do  so  by  the  same  motive. 
Dorothy  was  not  a  thief,  but  I  am  sure  she  would  have 
stolen  for  the  sake  of  her  lover.  She  was  gentle  and  ten 
der  to  a  degree  that  only  a  woman  can  attain ;  but  I  believe 
she  would  have  done  murder  in  cold  blood  for  the  sake  of 
her  love.  Some  few  women  there  are  in  whose  hearts  God 
has  placed  so  great  an  ocean  of  love  that  when  it  reaches 
its  flood  all  other  attributes  of  heart  and  soul  and  mind  are 
ingulfed  in  its  mighty  flow.  Of  this  rare  class  was  Dorothy. 

"  God  is  love,"  says  the  Book. 

"The  universe  is  God,"  says  the  philosopher.  "There 
fore,"  as  the  mathematician  would  say,  "  love  is  the  uni 
verse."  To  that  proposition  Dorothy  was  a  corollary. 

The  servants  were  standing  open-eyed  about  us  in  the 
kitchen. 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  dining  hall,"  I  suggested.  Sir  George 
led  the  way  by  the  stone  steps  to  the  screens,  and  from 
the  screens  to  the  small  banquet  hall,  and  I  followed,  lead 
ing  Dorothy  by  the  hand. 


156  DOROTHY    VERNON 

The  moment  of  respite  from  her  father's  furious  attack 
gave  her  time  in  which  to  collect  her  scattered  senses. 

When  we  reached  the  banquet  hall,  and  after  I  had 
closed  the  door,  Sir  George  turned  upon  his  daughter,  and 
with  oath  upon  oath  demanded  to  know  the  name  of  her 
lover.  Dorothy  stood  looking  to  the  floor  and  said  nothing. 
Sir  George  strode  furiously  to  and  fro  across  the  room. 

"  Curse  the  day  you  were  born,  you  wanton  huzzy. 
Curse  you !  curse  you !  Tell  me  the  name  of  the  man 
who  wrote  this  letter,"  he  cried,  holding  toward  her  the 
fragment  of  paper.  "  Tell  me  his  name  or,  I  swear  it 
before  God,  I  swear  it  upon  my  knighthood,  I  will  have 
you  flogged  in  the  upper  court  till  you  bleed.  I  would  do 
it  if  you  were  fifty  times  my  child." 

Then  Dorothy  awakened.  The  girl  was  herself  again. 
Now  it  was  only  for  herself  she  had  to  fear. 

Her  heart  kept  saying,  "  This  for  his  sake,  this  for 
his  sake."  Out  of  her  love  came  fortitude,  and  out  of  her 
fortitude  came  action. 

Her  father's  oath  had  hardly  been  spoken  till  the  girl 
tore  her  bodice  from  her  shoulders.  She  threw  the  gar 
ment  to  the  floor  and  said  :  — 

"  I  am  ready  for  the  whip,  I  am  ready.  Who  is  to  do 
the  deed,  father,  you  or  the  butcher  ?  It  must  be  done. 
You  have  sworn  it,  and  I  swear  before  God  and  by 
my  maidenhood  that  I  will  not  tell  you  the  name  of  the 
man  who  wrote  the  letter.  I  love  him,  and  before  I  will 
tell  you  his  name  or  forego  his  love  for  me,  or  before  I  will 
abate  one  jot  or  tittle  of  my  love  for  him,  I  will  gladly  die 
by  the  whip  in  your  hand.  I  am  ready  for  the  whip, 
father.  I  am  ready.  Let  us  have  it  over  quickly." 

The  girl,  whose  shoulders  were  bare,  took  a  few  steps 
toward  the  door  leading  to  the  upper  court,  but  Sir  George 
did  not  move.  I  was  deeply  affected  by  the  terrible  scene, 
and  I  determined  to  prevent  the  flogging  if  to  do  so  should 


im.rj   .  :      FUCW 


HER  FATHER'S  OATH  HAD  HARDLY  KEEN  SPOKEN  m.i.  THE  GIRL  TORE  HER 

BODICE    FROM    HER    SHOULDERS." 


TRIBULATION    IN    HADDON       157 

cost  Sir  George's  life  at  my  hands.  I  would  have  killed 
him  ere  he  should  have  laid  a  single  lash  of  the  whip  upon 
Dorothy's  back. 

"  Father,"  continued  the  terrible  girl,  "are  you  not  going 
to  flog  me  ?  Remember  your  oaths.  Surely  you  would  not 
be  forsworn  before  God  and  upon  your  knighthood.  A 
forsworn  Christian  ?  A  forsworn  knight  ?  A  forsworn 
Vernon  ?  The  lash,  father,  the  lash  —  I  am  eager  for  it." 

Sir  George  stood  in  silence,  and  Dorothy  continued  to 
move  toward  the  door.  Her  face  was  turned  backward 
over  her  shoulder  to  her  father,  and  she  whispered  the 
words,  "  Forsworn,  forsworn,  forsworn  !  " 

As  she  put  her  hand  on  the  latch  the  piteous  old  man 
held  forth  his  arms  toward  her  and  in  a  wail  of  agony  cried  : 
"  Doll !  Doll !  My  daughter !  My  child  !  God  help  me !  " 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  his  great  form 
shook  for  a  moment  as  the  tree  trembles  before  the  fall, 
and  he  fell  prone  to  the  floor  sobbing  forth  the  anguish 
of  which  his  soul  was  full. 

In  an  instant  Dorothy  was  by  her  father's  side  holding 
his  head  upon  her  lap.  She  covered  his  face  with  her 
kisses,  and  while  the  tears  streamed  from  her  eyes  she 
spoke  incoherent  words  of  love  and  repentance. 

"I  will  tell  you  all,  father;  I  will  tell  you  all.  I  will 
give  him  up  ;  I  will  see  him  never  again.  I  will  try  not 
to  love  him.  Oh,  father,  forgive  me,  forgive  me.  I  will 
never  again  deceive  you  so  long  as  I  live." 

Truly  the  fate  of  an  overoath  is  that  it  shall  be  broken. 
When  one  swears  to  do  too  much,  one  performs  too  little. 

I  helped  Sir  George  rise  to  his  feet. 

Dorothy,  full  of  tenderness  and  in  tears,  tried  to  take 
his  hand,  but  he  repulsed  her  rudely,  and  uttering  terrible 
oaths  coupled  with  her  name  quitted  the  room  with  totter 
ing  steps. 

When  her  father  had  gone  Dorothy  stood  in  revery  for 


158  DOROTHY    VERNON 

a  little  time,  and  then  looking  toward  the  door  through 
which  her  father  had  just  passed,  she  spoke  as  if  to  herself  : 
"  He  does  not  know.  How  fortunate  !  " 

"  But  you  said  you  would  tell  him,"  I  suggested.  "You 
said  you  would  give  him  up." 

Dorothy  was  in  a  deep  revery.  She  took  her  bodice 
from  the  floor  and  mechanically  put  it  on. 

"  I  know  I  said  I  would  tell  my  father,  and  I  offered  to 
give — give  him  up,"  she  replied;  "but  I  will  do  neither. 
Father  would  not  meet  my  love  with  love.  He  would 
not  forgive  me,  nor  would  he  accept  my  repentance 
when  it  was  he  who  should  have  repented.  I  was 
alarmed  and  grieved  for  father's  sake  when  I  said  that 
I  would  tell  him  about — about  John,  and  would  give  him 
up."  She  was  silent  and  thoughtful  for  a  little  time. 
"  Give  him  up  ? "  she  cried  defiantly.  "  No,  not  for  my 
soul;  not  for  ten  thousand  thousand  souls.  When  my 
father  refused  my  love,  he  threw  away  the  only  opportu 
nity  he  shall  ever  have  to  learn  from  me  John's  name.  That 
I  swear,  and  I  shall  never  be  forsworn.  I  asked  father's 
forgiveness  when  he  should  have  begged  for  mine.  Whip 
me  in  the  courtyard,  would  he,  till  I  should  bleed  !  Yet  I  was 
willing  to  forgive  him,  and  he  would  not  accept  my  forgive 
ness.  I  was  willing  to  forego  John,  who  is  more  than  life  to 
me ;  but  my  father  would  not  accept  my  sacrifice.  Truly  will 
I  never  be  so  great  a  fool  the  second  time.  Malcolm,  I  will 
not  remain  here  to  be  the  victim  of  another  insult  such  as 
my  father  put  upon  me  to-day.  There  is  no  law,  human 
or  divine,  that  gives  to  a  parent  the  right  to  treat  his 
daughter  as  my  father  has  used  me.  Before  this  day  my 
conscience  smote  me  when  I  deceived  him,  and  I  suffered 
pain  if  I  but  thought  of  my  father.  But  now,  thanks  to 
his  cruelty,  I  may  be  happy  without  remorse.  Malcolm, 
if  you  betray  me,  I  will — I  will  kill  you  if  I  must  follow  you 
over  the  world  to  do  it." 


TRIBULATION    IN    HADDON         159 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  deserve  that  threat  from  you, 
Dorothy  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  no,  my  dear  friend,  forgive  me.  I  trust  you,"  and 
she  caught  up  my  hand  and  kissed  it  gently. 

Dorothy  and  I  remained  in  the  banquet  hall,  seated  upon 
the  stone  bench  under  the  blazoned  window. 

Soon  Sir  George  returned,  closely  followed  by  two  men, 
one  of  whom  bore  manacles  such  as  were  used  to  secure 
prisoners  in  the  dungeon.  Sir  George  did  not  speak.  He 
turned  to  the  men  and  motioned  with  his  hand  toward 
Dorothy.  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  intending  to  interfere  by 
force,  if  need  be,  to  prevent  the  outrage ;  but  before  I  could 
speak  Lady  Crawford  hurriedly  entered  the  hall  and  ran 
to  Sir  George's  side. 

"  Brother,"  she  said,  "  old  Bess  has  just  told  me  that  you 
have  given  orders  for  Dorothy's  confinement  in  the 
dungeon.  I  could  not  believe  Bess ;  but  these  men  with 
irons  lead  me  to  suspect  that  you  really  intend  —  " 

"  Do  not  interfere  in  affairs  that  do  not  concern  you," 
replied  Sir  George,  sullenly. 

"  But  this  does  concern  me  greatly,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy, 
"  and  if  you  send  Doll  to  the  dungeon,  Madge  and  I  will 
leave  your  house  and  will  proclaim  your  act  to  all  Eng 
land." 

"  The  girl  has  disobeyed  me  and  has  lied  to  me,  and  —  " 

"  I  care  not  what  she  has  done,  I  shall  leave  your  house 
and  disown  you  for  my  brother  if  you  perpetrate  this  out 
rage  upon  my  niece.  She  is  dear  to  me  as  if  she  were  my 
own  child.  Have  I  not  brought  her  up  since  babyhood  ? 
If  you  carry  out  this  order,  brother,  I  will  leave  Haddon 
Hall  forever." 

"  And  I'll  go  with  her,"  cried  old  Bess,  who  stood  at 
the  door  of  the  screens. 

"And  I,  too,"  said  Dawson,  who  was  one  of  the  men 
who  had  entered  with  Sir  George. 


160  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  And  I,"  cried  the  other  man,  throwing  the  manacles  to 
the  floor,  "  I  will  leave  your  service." 

Sir  George  took  up  the  manacles  and  moved  toward 
Dorothy. 

"  You  may  all  go,  every  cursed  one  of  you.  I  rule  my 
own  house,  and  I  will  have  no  rebels  in  it.  When  I  have 
finished  with  this  perverse  wench,  I'll  not  wait  for  you 
to  go.  I'll  drive  you  all  out  and  you  may  go  to  —  " 

He  was  approaching  Dorothy,  but  I  stepped  in  front  of 
him. 

"  This  must  not  be,  Sir  George,"  said  I,  sternly.  "  I 
shall  not  leave  Haddon  Hall,  and  I  fear  you  not.  I  shall 
remain  here  to  protect  your  daughter  and  you  from  your 
own  violence.  You  cannot  put  me  out  of  Haddon  Hall; 
I  will  not  go." 

"  Why  cannot  I  put  you  out  of  Haddon  Hall  ?  "  retorted 
Sir  George,  whose  rage  by  that  time  was  frightful  to  behold. 

"  Because,  sir,  I  am  a  better  man  and  a  better  swords 
man  than  you  are,  and  because  you  have  not  on  all  your 
estates  a  servant  nor  a  retainer  who  will  not  join  me 
against  you  when  I  tell  them  the  cause  I  champion." 

Dawson  and  his  fellow  stepped  to  my  side  significantly, 
and  Sir  George  raised  the  iron  manacles  as  if  intending  to 
strike  me.  I  did  not  move.  At  the  same  moment  Madge 
entered  the  room. 

"  Where  is  my  uncle  ?  "  she  asked. 

Old  Bess  led  her  to  Sir  George.  She  spoke  not  a  word, 
but  placed  her  arms  gently  about  his  neck  and  drew  his 
face  down  to  hers.  Then  she  kissed  him  softly  upon  the 
lips  and  said  :  — 

"  My  uncle  has  never  in  all  his  life  spoken  in  aught  but 
kindness  to  me,  and  now  I  beg  him  to  be  kind  to  Dorothy." 

The  heavy  manacles  fell  clanking  to  the  floor.  Sir 
George  placed  his  hand  caressingly  upon  Madge's  head 
and  turned  from  Dorothy. 


TRIBULATION    IN    HADDON        161 

Lady  Crawford  then  approached  her  brother  and  put  her 
hand  upon  his  arm,  saying  :  — 

"  Come  with  me,  George,  that  I  may  speak  to  you  in 
private." 

She  moved  toward  the  door  by  which  she  had  entered, 
and  Madge  quietly  took  her  uncle's  hand  and  led  him  after 
Lady  Crawford.  Within  five  minutes  Sir  George,  Aunt 
Dorothy,  and  Madge  returned  to  the  room. 

"  Dorothy  ? "  said  Madge  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Here  I  am,  Madge,"  murmured  Dorothy,  who  was  sit 
ting  on  the  bench  by  the  blazoned  window.  Madge  walked 
gropingly  over  to  her  cousin  and  sat  by  her  side,  taking 
her  hand.  Then  Lady  Crawford  spoke  to  Dorothy  :  — 

"  Your  father  wishes  me  to  say  that  you  must  go  to  your 
apartments  in  Entrance  Tower,  and  that  you  shall  not 
leave  them  without  his  consent.  He  also  insists  that  I  say 
to  you  if  you  make  resistance  or  objection  to  this  decree, 
or  if  you  attempt  to  escape,  he  will  cause  you  to  be  man 
acled  and  confined  in  the  dungeon,  and  that  no  persuasion 
upon  our  part  will  lead  him  from  his  purpose." 

"  Which  shall  it  be  ? "  asked  Sir  George,  directing  his 
question  to  Lady  Crawford. 

Dorothy  lifted  her  eyebrows,  bit  the  corner  of  her  lip, 
shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  said  :  — 

"  Indeed,  it  makes  no  difference  to  me  where  you  send 
me,  father ;  I  am  willing  to  do  whatever  will  give  you  the 
greatest  happiness.  If  you  consult  my  wishes,  you  will 
have  me  whipped  in  the  courtyard  till  I  bleed.  I  should 
enjoy  that  more  than  anything  else  you  can  do.  Ah,  how 
tender  is  the  love  of  a  father !  It  passeth  understanding." 

"Come  to  your  apartments,  Dorothy,"  said  Lady  Craw 
ford,  anxious  to  separate  the  belligerents.  "  I  have  given 
your  father  my  word  of  honor  that  I  will  guard  you  and 
will  keep  you  prisoner  in  your  rooms.  Do  you  not  pity 
me  ?  I  gave  my  promise  only  to  save  you  from  the 


i62  DOROTHY    VERNON 

dungeon,  and  painful  as  the  task  will  be,  I  will  keep  my 
word  to  your  father." 

"Which  shall  it  be,  father?"  asked  Dorothy.  "You 
shall  finish  the  task  you  began.  I  shall  not  help  you  in 
your  good  work  by  making  choice.  You  shall  choose  my 
place  of  imprisonment.  Where  shall  it  be  ?  Shall  I  go 
to  my  rooms  or  to  the  dungeon  ? " 

"Go  to  your  rooms,"  answered  Sir  George,  "and  let 
me  never  see  —  "  but  Sir  George  did  not  finish  the  sentence. 
He  hurriedly  left  the  hall,  and  Dorothy  cheerfully  went  to 
imprisonment  in  Entrance  Tower. 


CHAPTER   VIII 
MALCOLM  No.  2 

SIR  GEORGE  had  done  a  bad  day's  work.  He  had 
hardened  Dorothy's  heart  against  himself  and  had 
made  it  more  tender  toward  John.  Since  her  father 
had  treated  her  so  cruelly,  she  felt  she  was  at  liberty  to 
give  her  heart  to  John  without  stint.  So  when  once  she  was 
alone  in  her  room  the  flood-gates  of  her  heart  were  opened, 
and  she  poured  forth  the  ineffable  tenderness  and  the  pas 
sionate  longings  with  which  she  was  filled.  With  solitude 
came  the  memory  of  John's  words  and  John's  kisses.  She 
recalled  every  movement,  every  word,  every  tone,  every 
sensation.  She  gave  her  soul  unbridled  license  to  feast 
with  joyous  ecstasy  upon  the  thrilling  memories.  All 
thoughts  of  her  father's  cruelty  were  drowned  in  a  sea  of 
bliss.  She  forgot  him.  In  truth,  she  forgot  everything 
but  her  love  and  her  lover.  That  evening,  after  she  had 
assisted  Madge  to  prepare  for  bed,  as  was  her  custom, 
Dorothy  stood  before  her  mirror  making  her  toilet  for  the 
night.  In  the  flood  of  her  newly  found  ecstasy  she  soon 
forgot  that  Madge  was  in  the  room. 

Dorothy  stood  before  her  mirror  with  her  face  near  to 
its  polished  surface,  that  she  might  scrutinize  every  feature, 
and,  if  possible,  verify  John's  words. 

"  He  called  me  'my  beauty'  twice,"  she  thought,  "and 
'my  Aphrodite'  once."  Then  her  thoughts  grew  into 
unconscious  words,  and  she  spoke  aloud :  — 

163 


1 64  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  I  wish  he  could  see  me  now."  And  she  blushed  at 
the  thought,  as  she  should  have  done.  "  He  acted  as 
if  he  meant  all  he  said,"  she  thought.  "  I  know  he  meant 
it.  I  trust  him  entirely.  But  if  he  should  change  ?  Holy 
Mother,  I  believe  I  should  die.  But  I  do  believe  him. 
He  would  not  lie,  even  though  he  is  not  a  Vernon." 

With  thoughts  of  the  scene  between  herself  and  her 
father  at  the  gate,  there  came  a  low  laugh,  half  of  amuse 
ment,  half  of  contentment,  and  the  laugh  meant  a  great 
deal  that  was  to  be  regretted ;  it  showed  a  sad  change  in 
Dorothy's  heart.  But  yesterday  the  memory  of  her  deceit 
would  have  filled  her  with  grief.  To-night  she  laughed 
at  it.  Ah,  Sir  George  !  Pitiable  old  man !  While  your 
daughter  laughs,  you  sigh  and  groan  and  moan,  and  your 
heart  aches  with  pain  and  impotent  rage.  Even  drink 
fails  to  bring  comfort  to  you.  I  say  impotent  rage,  because 
Dorothy  is  out  of  your  reach,  and  as  surely  as  the  sun  rises 
in  the  east  she  is  lost  to  you  forever.  The  years  of  protec 
tion  and  tender  love  which  you  have  given  to  her  go  for 
nothing.  Now  comes  the  son  of  your  mortal  enemy,  and 
you  are  but  an  obstruction  in  her  path.  Your  existence  is 
forgotten  while  she  revels  in  the  memory  of  his  words,  his 
embraces,  and  his  lips.  She  laughs  while  you  suffer,  in 
obedience  to  the  fate  that  Heaven  has  decreed  for  those 
who  bring  children  into  this  world. 

Who  is  to  blame  for  the  pitiable  mite  which  children 
give  in  return  for  a  parent's  flood  of  love  ?  I  do  not  know, 
but  of  this  I  am  sure :  if  parents  would  cease  to  feel  that 
they  own  their  children  in  common  with  their  horses, 
their  estates,  and  their  cattle ;  if  they  would  not,  as 
many  do  in  varying  degrees,  treat  their  children  as  their 
property,  the  return  of  love  would  be  far  more  adequate 
than  it  is. 

Dorothy  stood  before  her  mirror  plaiting  her  hair.  Her 
head  was  turned  backward  a  little  to  one  side  that  she 


MALCOLM    NO.  2  165 

might  more  easily  reach  the  great  red  golden  skein. 
In  that  entrancing  attitude  the  reflection  of  the  nether  lip 
of  which  John  had  spoken  so  fondly  came  distinctly  to 
Dorothy's  notice.  She  paused  in  the  braiding  of  her  hair 
and  held  her  face  close  to  the  mirror  that  she  might 
inspect  the  lip,  whose  beauty  John  had  so  ardently  ad 
mired.  She  turned  her  face  from  one  side  to  the  other 
that  she  might  view  it  from  all  points,  and  then  she  thrust 
it  forward  with  a  pouting  movement  that  would  have  set 
the  soul  of  a  mummy  pulsing  if  he  had  ever  been  a  man. 
She  stood  for  a  moment  in  contemplation  of  the  full  red 
lip,  and  then  resting  her  hands  upon  the  top  of  the  mirror 
table  leaned  forward  and  kissed  its  reflected  image. 

Again  forgetfulness  fell  upon  her  and  her  thoughts 
grew  into  words. 

"  He  was  surely  right  concerning  my  lower  lip,"  she 
said,  speaking  to  herself.  Then  without  the  least  appar 
ent  relevance,  "  He  had  been  smoking."  Again  her  words 
broke  her  revery,  and  she  took  up  the  unfinished  braid  of 
hair.  When  she  did  so,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  arm 
which  was  as  perfectly  rounded  as  the  fairest  marble  of 
Phidias.  She  stretched  the  arm  to  its  full  length  that  the 
mirror  might  reflect  its  entire  beauty.  Again  she  thought 
aloud :  "  I  wish  he  could  see  my  arm.  Perhaps  some 
day  — "  But  the  words  ceased,  and  in  their  place  came 
a  flush  that  spread  from  her  hair  to  her  full  white  throat, 
and  she  quickly  turned  the  mirror  away  so  that  even  it 
should  not  behold  her  beauty. 

You  see  after  all  is  told  Dorothy  was  modest. 

She  finished  her  toilet  without  the  aid  of  her  mirror ; 
but  before  she  extinguished  the  candle  she  stole  one  more 
fleeting  glance  at  its  polished  surface,  and  again  came  the 
thought,  "Perhaps  some  day  —  "  Then  she  covered  the 
candle,  and  amid  enfolding  darkness  lay  down  beside 
Madge,  full  of  thoughts  and  sensations  that  made  her 


166  DOROTHY    VERNON 

tremble ;  for  they  were  strange  to  her,  and  she  knew  not 
what  they  meant. 

Dorothy  thought  that  Madge  was  asleep,  but  after  a  few 
minutes  the  latter  said  :  — 

"  Tell  me,  Dorothy,  who  was  on  fire  ?  " 

"  Who  was  on  fire  ?  "  asked  Dorothy  in  surprise.  "  What 
do  you  mean,  Madge  ?  " 

"  I  hope  they  have  not  been  trying  to  burn  any  one," 
said  Madge. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  again  asked  Dorothy. 

"You  said  '  He  had  been  smoking,'  "  responded  Madge. 

"  Oh,"  laughed  Dorothy,  "  that  is  too  comical.  Of  course 
not,  dear  one.  I  was  speaking  of  —  of  a  man  who  had 
been  smoking  tobacco,  as  Malcolm  does."  Then  she 
explained  the  process  of  tobacco  smoking. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  answered  Madge.  "I  saw  Malcolm's 
pipe.  That  is,  I  held  it  in  my  hands  for  a  moment  while 
he  explained  to  me  its  use." 

Silence  ensued  for  a  moment,  and  Madge  again  spoke  :  — 

"  What  was  it  he  said  about  your  lower  lip,  and  who  was 
he  ?  I  did  not  learn  why  Uncle  George  wished  to  confine 
you  in  the  dungeon.  I  am  so  sorry  that  this  trouble  has 
come  upon  you." 

"Trouble,  Madge?"  returned  Dorothy.  "Truly,  you 
do  not  understand.  No  trouble  has  come  upon  me.  The 
greatest  happiness  of  my  life  has  come  to  pass.  Don't 
pity  me.  Envy  me.  My  happiness  is  so  sweet  and  so 
great  that  it  frightens  me." 

"  How  can  you  be  happy  while  your  father  treats  you 
so  cruelly  ?  "  asked  Madge. 

"  His  conduct  makes  it  possible  for  my  happiness  to 
be  complete,"  returned  Dorothy.  "  If  he  were  kind  to  me, 
I  should  be  unhappy,  but  his  cruelty  leaves  me  free  to  be 
as  happy  as  I  may.  For  my  imprisonment  in  this  room  I 
care  not  a  farthing.  It  does  not  trouble  me,  for  when  I  wish 


MALCOLM    NO.    2  167 

to  see  —  see  him  again,  I  shall  do  so.  I  don't  know  at  this 
time  just  how  I  shall  effect  it ;  but  be  sure,  sweet  one,  I 
shall  find  a  way."  There  was  no  doubt  in  Madge's  mind 
that  Dorothy  would  find  a  way. 

"  Who  is  he,  Dorothy  ?  You  may  trust  me.  Is  he  the 
gentleman  whom  we  met  at  Derby-town  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Dorothy,  "  he  is  Sir  John  Manners." 

"  Dorothy  !  "  exclaimed  Madge  in  tones  of  fear. 

"  It  could  not  be  worse,  could  it,  Madge  ? "  said  Doro 
thy. 

"  Oh,  Dorothy  !  "  was  the  only  response. 

"  You  will  not  betray  me  ? "  asked  Dorothy,  whose  alarm 
made  her  suspicious. 

"  You  know  whether  or  not  I  will  betray  you,"  answered 
Madge. 

"  Indeed,  I  know,  else  I  should  not  have  told  you  my 
secret.  Oh,  you  should  see  him,  Madge ;  he  is  the  most 
beautiful  person  living.  The  poor  soft  beauty  of  the 
fairest  woman  grows  pale  beside  him.  You  cannot  know 
how  wonderfully  beautiful  a  man  may  be.  You  have 
never  seen  one." 

"  Yes,  I  have  seen  many  men,  and  I  well  remember  their 
appearance.  I  was  twelve  years  old,  you  know,  when  I 
lost  my  sight." 

"  But,  Madge,"  said  Dorothy,  out  of  the  fulness  of  her 
newly  acquired  knowledge,  "a  girl  of  twelve  cannot  see  a 
man." 

"  No  woman  sees  with  her  eyes  the  man  whom  she 
loves,"  answered  Madge,  quietly. 

"  How  does  she  see  him  ?  "  queried  Dorothy. 

"  With  her  heart." 

"  Have  you,  too,  learned  that  fact  ?  "  asked  Dorothy. 

Madge  hesitated  for  a  moment  and  murmured  "Yes." 

"Who  is  he,  dear  one?"  whispered  Dorothy. 

"  I  may  not  tell  even   you,  Dorothy,"  replied    Madge, 


168  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  because  it  can  come  to  nothing.  The  love  is  all  on  my 
part." 

Dorothy  insisted,  but  Madge  begged  her  not  to  ask  for 
her  secret. 

"  Please  don't  even  make  a  guess  concerning  him,"  said 
Madge.  "  It  is  my  shame  and  my  joy." 

It  looked  as  if  this  malady  which  had  fallen  upon  Doro 
thy  were  like  the  plague  that  infects  a  whole  family  if  one 
but  catch  it. 

Dorothy,  though  curious,  was  generous,  and  remained  con 
tent  with  Madge's  promise  that  she  should  be  the  first  one  to 
hear  the  sweet  story  if  ever  the  time  should  come  to  tell  it. 

"When  did  you  see  him  ?  "  asked  Madge,  who  was  more 
willing  to  receive  than  to  impart  intelligence  concerning 
affairs  of  the  heart. 

"To-day,"  answered  Dorothy.  Then  she  told  Madge 
about  the  scenes  at  the  gate  and  described  what  had 
happened  between  her  and  Sir  George  in  the  kitchen  and 
banquet  hall. 

"How  could  you  tell  your  father  such  a  falsehood?" 
asked  Madge  in  consternation. 

"  It  was  very  easy.  You  see  I  had  to  do  it.  I  never 
lied  until  recently.  But  oh,  Madge,  this  is  a  terrible  thing 
to  come  upon  a  girl !  "  "This  "  was  somewhat  indefinite, 
but  Madge  understood,  and  perhaps  it  will  be  clear  to  you 
what  Dorothy  meant.  The  girl  continued  :  "  She  forgets 
all  else.  It  will  drive  her  to  do  anything,  however  wicked. 
For  some  strange  cause,  under  its  influence  she  does  not 
feel  the  wrong  she  does.  It  acts  upon  a  girl's  sense  of 
right  and  wrong  as  poppy  juice  acts  on  pain.  Before  it 
came  upon  me  in  —  in  such  terrible  force,  I  believe  I  should 
have  become  ill  had  I  told  my  father  a  falsehood.  I  might 
have  equivocated,  or  I  might  have  evaded  the  truth  in 
some  slight  degree,  but  I  could  not  have  told  a  lie.  But 
now  it  is  as  easy  as  winking." 


MALCOLM    NO.  2  169 

"  And  I  fear,  Dorothy,"  responded  Madge,  "  that  wink 
ing  is  very  easy  for  you." 

"Yes,"  answered  candid  Dorothy  with  a  sigh. 

"  It  must  be  a  very  great  evil,"  said  Madge,  deploringly. 

"  One  might  well  believe  so,"  answered  Dorothy,  "  but 
it  is  not.  One  instinctively  knows  it  to  be  the  essence  of 
all  that  is  good." 

Madge  asked,  "  Did  Sir  John  tell  you  that  —  that 
he  —  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Dorothy,  covering  her  face  even  from  the 
flickering  rays  of  the  rushlight. 

"  Did  you  tell  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  came  in  reply  from  under  the  coverlet. 

After  a  short  silence  Dorothy  uncovered  her  face. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  boldly,  "  I  told  him  plainly  ;  nor  did  I 
feel  shame  in  so  doing.  It  must  be  that  this  strange  love 
makes  one  brazen.  You,  Madge,  would  die  with  shame 
had  you  sought  any  man  as  I  have  sought  John.  I  would 
not  for  worlds  tell  you  how  bold  and  over-eager  I  have 
been." 

"  Oh,  Dorothy  !  "  was  all  the  answer  Madge  gave. 

"  You  would  say  '  Oh,  Dorothy,'  many  times  if  you  knew 
all."  Another  pause  ensued,  after  which  Madge  asked  :  — 

"  How  did  you  know  he  had  been  smoking  ?  " 

"I  —  I  tasted  it,"  responded  Dorothy. 

"  How  could  you  taste  it  ?  I  hope  you  did  not  smoke  ?  " 
returned  Madge  in  wonderment. 

Dorothy  smothered  a  little  laugh,  made  two  or  three 
vain  attempts  to  explain,  tenderly  put  her  arms  about 
Madge's  neck  and  kissed  her. 

"  Oh,  Dorothy,  that  certainly  was  wrong,"  returned 
Madge,  although  she  had  some  doubts  in  her  own  mind 
upon  the  point. 

"Well,  if  it  is  wrong,"  answered  Dorothy,  sighing,  "I 
don't  care  to  live." 


170  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Dorothy,  I  fear  you  are  an  immodest  girl,"  said 
Madge. 

"  I  fear  I  am,  but  I  don't  care  —  John,  John,  John !  " 

"  How  came  he  to  speak  of  your  lower  lip  ?  "  asked 
Madge.  "  It  certainly  is  very  beautiful ;  but  how  came  he 
to  speak  of  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  after  —  after  —  once,"  responded  Dorothy. 

"And  your  arm,"  continued  remorseless  Madge,  "how 
came  he  to  speak  of  it  ?  You  surely  did  not  — 

"  No,  no,  Madge ;  I  hope  you  do  not  think  I  would  show 
him  my  arm.  I  have  not  come  to  that.  I  have  a  poor 
remnant  of  modesty  left ;  but  the  Holy  Mother  only  knows 
how  long  it  will  last.  No,  he  did  not  speak  of  my  arm." 

"  You  spoke  of  your  arm  when  you  were  before  the 
mirror,"  responded  Madge,  "  and  you  said,  '  Perhaps  some 
day  — ' ' 

"Oh,  don't,  Madge.  Please  spare  me.  I  indeed  fear  I 
am  very  wicked.  I  will  say  a  little  prayer  to  the  Virgin 
to-night.  She  will  hear  me,  even  if  I  am  wicked ;  and 
she  will  help  me  to  become  good  and  modest  again." 

The  girls  went  to  sleep,  and  Dorothy  dreamed  "John, 
John,  John,"  and  slumbered  happily. 

That  part  of  the  building  of  Haddon  Hall  which  lies 
to  the  northward,  west  of  the  kitchen,  consists  of  rooms 
according  to  the  following  plan  :  — 

The  two  rooms  in  Entrance  Tower  over  the  great  doors 
at  the  northwest  corner  of  Haddon  Hall  were  occupied  by 
Dorothy  and  Madge.  The  west  room  overlooking  the  Wye 
was  their  parlor.  The  next  room  to  the  east  was  their 
bedroom.  The  room  next  their  bedroom  was  occupied  by 
Lady  Crawford.  Beyond  that  was  Sir  George's  bedroom, 
and  east  of  his  room  was  one  occupied  by  the  pages  and 
two  retainers.  To  enter  Dorothy's  apartments  one  must 
pass  through  all  the  other  rooms  I  have  mentioned.  Her 
windows  were  twenty-five  feet  from  the  ground  and  were 


MALCOLM    NO.  2  171 

barred  with  iron.  After  Dorothy's  sentence  of  imprison 
ment,  Lady  Crawford,  or  some  trusted  person  in  her 
place,  was  always  on  guard  in  Aunt  Dorothy's  room  to 
prevent  Dorothy's  escape,  and  guards  were  also  stationed 
in  the  retainer's  room  for  the  same  purpose.  I  tell  you 
this  that  you  may  understand  the  difficulties  Dorothy  would 
have  to  overcome  before  she  could  see  John,  as  she  de 
clared  to  Madge  she  would.  But  my  opinion  is  that  there 
are  no  limits  to  the  resources  of  a  wilful  girl.  Dorothy  saw 
Manners.  The  plan  she  conceived  to  bring  about  the  de 
sired  end  was  so  seemingly  impossible,  and  her  execution 
of  it  was  so  adroit  and  daring,  that  I  believe  it  will  of  itself 
interest  you  in  the  telling,  aside  from  the  bearing  it  has 
upon  this  history.  No  sane  man  would  have  deemed  it 
possible,  but  this  wilful  girl  carried  it  to  fruition.  She  saw 
no  chance  of  failure.  To  her  it  seemed  a  simple,  easy 
matter.  Therefore  she  said  with  confidence  and  truth,  "  I 
will  see  him  when  I  wish  to." 

Let  me  tell  you  of  it. 

During  Dorothy's  imprisonment  I  spent  an  hour  or  two 
each  evening  with  her  and  Madge  at  their  parlor  in  the 
tower.  The  windows  of  the  room,  as  I  have  told  you, 
faced  westward,  overlooking  the  Wye,  and  disclosed  the 
beautiful,  undulating  scenery  of  Overhaddon  Hill  in  the 
distance. 

One  afternoon  when  Madge  was  not  present  Dorothy 
asked  me  to  bring  her  a  complete  suit  of  my  garments,  — 
boots,  hose,  trunks,  waistcoat,  and  doublet.  I  laughed,  and 
asked  her  what  she  wanted  with  them,  but  she  refused  to 
tell  me.  She  insisted,  however,  and  I  promised  to  fetch 
the  garments  to  her.  Accordingly  the  next  evening  I 
delivered  the  bundle  to  her  hands.  Within  a  week  she 
returned  them  all,  saving  the  boots.  Those  she  kept  — 
for  what  reason  I  could  not  guess. 

Lady  Crawford,  by  command  of  Sir  George,  carried  in 


172  DOROTHY    VERNON 

her  reticule  the  key  of  the  door  which  opened  from  her 
own  room  into  Sir  George's  apartments,  and  the  door  was 
always  kept  locked. 

Dorothy  had  made  several  attempts  to  obtain  possession 
of  the  key,  with  intent,  I  believe,  of  making  a  bold  dash 
for  liberty.  But  Aunt  Dorothy,  mindful  of  Sir  George's 
wrath  and  fearing  him  above  all  men,  acted  faithfully  her 
part  of  gaoler.  She  smiled,  half  in  sadness,  when  she  told 
me  of  the  girl's  simplicity  in  thinking  she  could  hoodwink 
a  person  of  Lady  Crawford's  age,  experience,  and  wisdom. 
The  old  lady  took  great  pride  in  her  own  acuteness.  The 
distasteful  task  of  gaoler,  however,  pained  good  Aunt 
Dorothy,  whose  simplicity  was,  in  truth,  no  match  for 
Dorothy's  love-quickened  cunning.  But  Aunt  Dorothy's 
sense  of  duty  and  her  fear  of  Sir  George  impelled  her  to 
keep  good  and  conscientious  guard. 

One  afternoon  near  the  hour  of  sunset  I  knocked  for 
admission  at  Lady  Crawford's  door.  When  I  had  entered 
she  locked  the  door  carefully  after  me,  and  replaced  the 
key  in  the  reticule  which  hung  at  her  girdle. 

I  exchanged  a  few  words  with  her  Ladyship,  and  entered 
Dorothy's  bedroom,  where  I  left  my  cloak,  hat,  and  sword. 
The  girls  were  in  the  parlor.  When  I  left  Lady  Crawford 
she  again  took  her  chair  near  the  candle,  put  on  her  great 
bone-rimmed  spectacles,  and  was  soon  lost  to  the  world  in 
the  pages  of  "  Sir  Philip  de  Comynges."  The  dear  old  lady 
was  near-sighted  and  was  slightly  deaf.  Dorothy's  bed 
room,  like  Lady  Crawford's  apartments,  was  in  deep  shadow. 
In  it  there  was  no  candle. 

My  two  fair  friends  were  seated  in  one  of  the  west  win 
dows  watching  the  sunset.  They  rose,  and  each  gave  me 
her  hand  and  welcomed  me  with  the  rare  smiles  I  had 
learned  to  expect  from  them.  I  drew  a  chair  near  to  the 
window  and  we  talked  and  laughed  together  merrily  for 
a  few  minutes.  After  a  little  time  Dorothy  excused  her- 


"  SHE    STOOD    IN    PASSIVE    SILENCE." 


MALCOLM    NO.  2  173 

self,  saying  that  she  would  leave  Madge  and  me  while  she 
went  into  the  bedroom  to  make  a  change  in  her  apparel. 

Madge  and  I  sat  for  a  few  minutes  at  the  window,  and  I 
said,  "  You  have  not  been  out  to-day  for  exercise." 

I  had  ridden  to  Derby  with  Sir  George  and  had  gone 
directly  on  my  return  to  see  my  two  young  friends.  Sir 
George  had  not  returned. 

"  Will  you  walk  with  me  about  the  room  ?  "  I  asked. 

My  real  reason  for  making  the  suggestion  was  that  I 
longed  to  clasp  her  hand,  and  to  feel  its  velvety  touch,  since 
I  should  lead  her  if  we  walked. 

She  quickly  rose  in  answer  to  my  invitation  and  offered 
me  her  hand.  As  we  walked  to  and  fro  a  deep,  sweet  con 
tentment  filled  my  heart,  and  I  felt  that  any  words  my  lips 
could  coin  would  but  mar  the  ineffable  silence. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  soft  light  of  that  gloaming  as 
the  darkening  red  rays  of  the  sinking  sun  shot  through  the 
panelled  window  across  the  floor  and  illumined  the  tapestry 
upon  the  opposite  wall. 

The  tapestries  of  Haddon  Hall  are  among  the  most 
beautiful  in  England,  and  the  picture  upon  which  the  sun's 
rays  fell  was  that  of  a  lover  kneeling  at  the  feet  of  his 
mistress.  Madge  and  I  passed  and  repassed  the  illumined 
scene,  and  while  it  was  softly  fading  into  shadow  a  great 
flood  of  tender  love  for  the  girl  whose  soft  hand  I  held 
swept  over  my  heart.  It  was  the  noblest  motive  I  had 
ever  felt. 

Moved  by  an  impulse  I  could  not  resist,  I  stopped  in  our 
walk,  and  falling  to  my  knee  pressed  her  hand  ardently  to 
my  lips.  Madge  did  not  withdraw  her  hand,  nor  did  she 
attempt  to  raise  me.  She  stood  in  passive  silence.  The 
sun's  rays  had  risen  as  the  sun  had  sunk,  and  the  light 
was  falling  like  a  holy  radiance  from  the  gates  of  paradise 
upon  the  girl's  head.  I  looked  upward,  and  never  in  my 
eyes  had  woman's  face  appeared  so  fair  and  saintlike. 


174  DOROTHY   VERNON 

She  seemed  to  see  me  and  to  feel  the  silent  outpouring  of 
my  affection.  I  rose  to  my  feet,  and  clasping  both  her 
hands  spoke  only  her  name  "  Madge." 

She  answered  simply,  "  Malcolm,  is  it  possible  ?  "  And 
her  face,  illumined  by  the  sunlight  and  by  the  love-god, 
told  me  all  else.  Then  I  gently  took  her  to  my  arms  and 
kissed  her  lips  again  and  again  and  again,  and  Madge  by  no 
sign  nor  gesture  said  me  nay.  She  breathed  a  happy  sigh, 
her  head  fell  upon  my  breast,  and  all  else  of  good  that  the 
world  could  offer  compared  with  her  was  dross  to  me. 

We  again  took  our  places  by  the  window,  since  now  I 
might  hold  her  hand  without  an  excuse.  By  the  window 
we  sat,  speaking  little,  through  the  happiest  hour  of  my 
life.  How  dearly  do  I  love  to  write  about  it,  and  to  lave 
my  soul  in  the  sweet  aromatic  essence  of  its  memory. 
But  my  rhapsodies  must  have  an  end. 

When  Dorothy  left  me  with  Madge  at  the  window  she 
entered  her  bedroom  and  quickly  arrayed  herself  in  gar 
ments  which  were  facsimiles  of  those  I  had  lent  her. 
Then  she  put  her  feet  into  my  boots  and  donned  my  hat 
and  cloak.  She  drew  my  gauntleted  gloves  over  her 
hands,  buckled  my  sword  to  her  slim  waist,  pulled  down 
the  broad  rim  of  my  soft  beaver  hat  over  her  face,  and 
turned  up  the  collar  of  my  cloak.  Then  she  adjusted 
about  her  chin  and  upper  lip  a  black  chin  beard  and 
moustachio,  which  she  had  in  some  manner  contrived  to 
make,  and,  in  short,  prepared  to  enact  the  role  of  Malcolm 
Vernon  before  her  watchful  gaoler,  Aunt  Dorothy. 

While  sitting  silently  with  Madge  I  heard  the  clanking 
of  my  sword  against  the  oak  floor  in  Dorothy's  bedroom. 
I  supposed  she  had  been  toying  with  it  and  had  let  it  fall. 
She  was  much  of  a  child,  and  nothing  could  escape  her 
curiosity.  Then  I  heard  the  door  open  into  Aunt  Doro 
thy's  apartments.  I  whispered  to  Madge  requesting  her 
to  remain  silently  by  the  window,  and  then  I  stepped 


MALCOLM    NO.    2  175 

softly  over  to  the  door  leading  into  the  bedroom.  I 
noiselessly  opened  the  door  and  entered.  From  my  dark 
hiding-place  in  Dorothy's  bedroom  I  witnessed  a  scene 
in  Aunt  Dorothy's  room  which  filled  me  with  wonder  and 
suppressed  laughter.  Striding  about  in  the  shadow-dark 
ened  portions  of  Lady  Crawford's  apartment  was  my 
other  self,  Malcolm  No.  2,  created  from  the  flesh  and  sub 
stance  of  Dorothy  Vernon. 

The  sunlight  was  yet  abroad,  though  into  Lady  Craw 
ford's  room  its  slanting  rays  but  dimly  entered  at  that 
hour,  and  the  apartment  was  in  deep  shadow,  save  for  the 
light  of  one  flickering  candle,  close  to  the  flame  of  which 
the  old  lady  was  holding  the  pages  of  the  book  she  was 
laboriously  perusing. 

The  girl  held  her  hand  over  her  mouth  trumpet-wise 
that  her  voice  might  be  deepened,  and  the  swagger  with 
which  she  strode  about  the  room  was  the  most  graceful 
and  ludicrous  movement  I  ever  beheld.  I  wondered  if 
she  thought  she  was  imitating  my  walk,  and  I  vowed  that 
if  her  step  were  a  copy  of  mine,  I  would  straightway 
amend  my  pace. 

"What  do  you  read,  Lady  Crawford?"  said  my  cloak 
and  hat,  in  tones  that  certainly  were  marvellously  good 
imitations  of  my  voice. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Malcolm  ? "  asked  the  deaf  old  lady, 
too  gentle  to  show  the  ill-humor  she  felt  because  of  the 
interruption  to  her  reading. 

"  I  asked  what  do  you  read  ?  "  repeated  Dorothy. 

"  The  '  Chronicle  of  Sir  Philip  de  Comynges,'  "  responded 
Lady  Crawford.  "  Have  you  read  it  ?  It  is  a  rare  and 
interesting  history." 

"  Ah,  indeed,  it  is  a  rare  book,  a  rare  book.  I  have 
read  it  many  times."  There  was  no  need  for  that  little 
fabrication,  and  it  nearly  brought  Dorothy  into  trouble. 

"  What  part  of  the  '  Chronicle '  do  you  best  like  ? "  asked 


176  DOROTHY    VERNON 

Aunt  Dorothy,  perhaps  for  lack  of  anything  else  to  say. 
Here  was  trouble  already  for  Malcolm  No.  2. 

"  That  is  hard  for  me  to  say.  I  so  well  like  it  all.  Per 
haps —  ah  —  perhaps  I  prefer  the  —  the  ah — the  middle 
portion." 

"  Ah,  you  like  that  part  which  tells  the  story  of  Mary  of 
Burgundy,"  returned  Aunt  Dorothy.  "  Oh,  Malcolm,  I 
know  upon  what  theme  you  are  always  thinking  —  the 
ladies,  the  ladies." 

"  Can  the  fair  Lady  Crawford  chide  me  for  that  ?  "  my 
second  self  responded  in  a  gallant  style  of  which  I  was 
really  proud.  "  She  who  has  caused  so  much  of  that  sort 
of  thought  surely  must  know  that  a  gentleman's  mind  can 
not  be  better  employed  than  —  " 

"  Malcolm,  you  are  incorrigible.  But  it  is  well  for  a 
gentleman  to  keep  in  practice  in  such  matters,  even  though 
he  have  but  an  old  lady  to  practise  on." 

"They  like  it,  even  if  it  be  only  practice,  don't  they?" 
said  Dorothy,  full  of  the  spirit  of  mischief. 

"  I  thank  you  for  nothing,  Sir  Malcolm  Vernon,"  retorted 
Aunt  Dorothy  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "  I  surely  don't 
value  your  practice,  as  you  call  it,  one  little  farthing's 
worth." 

But  Malcolm  No.  2,  though  mischievously  inclined,  was 
much  quicker  of  wit  than  Malcolm  No.  I,  and  she  easily 
extricated  herself. 

"  I  meant  that  gentlemen  like  it,  Lady  Crawford." 

"  Oh ! "  replied  Lady  Crawford,  again  taking  up  her 
book.  "  I  have  been  reading  Sir  Philip's  account  of  the 
death  of  your  fair  Mary  of  Burgundy.  Do  you  remember 
the  cause  of  her  death  ? " 

Malcolm  No.  2,  who  had  read  Sir  Philip  so  many  times, 
was  compelled  to  admit  that  he  did  not  remember  the  cause 
of  Mary's  death. 

"  You  did  not  read  the  book  with  attention,"  replied  Lady 


MALCOLM    NO.    2  177 

Crawford.  "  Sir  Philip  says  that  Mary  of  Burgundy  died 
from  an  excess  of  modesty." 

"  That  disease  will  never  depopulate  England,"  was  the 
answer  that  came  from  my  garments,  much  to  my  chagrin. 

"  Sir  Malcolm,"  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  "  I  never  before 
heard  so  ungallant  a  speech  from  your  lips."  •  — "And," 
thought  I,  "  she  never  will  hear  its  like  from  me." 

"Modesty,"  continued  Lady  Crawford,  "may  not  be 
valued  so  highly  by  young  women  nowadays  as  it  was  in 
the  time  of  my  youth,  but —  " 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  not,"  interrupted  Dorothy. 

"  But,"  continued  Lady  Crawford,  "  the  young  women  of 
England  are  modest  and  seemly  in  their  conduct,  and  they 
do  not  deserve  to  be  spoken  of  in  ungallant  jest." 

I  trembled  lest  Dorothy  should  ruin  my  reputation  for 
gallantry. 

"  Do  you  not,"  said  Lady  Crawford,  "  consider  Dorothy 
and  Madge  to  be  modest,  well-behaved  maidens  ?  " 

"  Madge  !  Ah,  surely  she  is  all  that  a  maiden  should  be. 
She  is  a  saint,  but  as  to  Dorothy — well,  my  dear  Lady 
Crawford,  I  predict  another  end  for  her  than  death  from 
modesty.  I  thank  Heaven  the  disease  in  its  mild  form 
does  not  kill.  Dorothy  has  it  mildly,"  then  under  her 
breath,  "if  at  all." 

The  girl's  sense  of  humor  had  vanquished  her  caution, 
and  for  the  moment  it  caused  her  to  forget  even  the  reason 
for  her  disguise. 

"  You  do  not  speak  fairly  of  your  cousin  Dorothy,"  re 
torted  Lady  Crawford.  "  She  is  a  modest  girl,  and  I  love 
her  deeply." 

"  Her  father  would  not  agree  with  you,"  replied  Dorothy. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  responded  the  aunt.  "  Her  father's  con 
duct  causes  me  great  pain  and  grief." 

"  It  also  causes  me  pain,"  said  Dorothy,  sighing. 

"  But,  Malcolm,"  continued  the  old  lady,  putting  down 


178  DOROTHY    VERNON 

her  book  and  turning  with  quickened  interest  toward  my 
other  self,  "  who,  suppose  you,  is  the  man  with  whom 
Dorothy  has  become  so  strangely  entangled  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  for  the  life  of  me,"  answered  Malcolm 
No.  2.  "  Surely  a  modest  girl  would  not  act  as  she  does." 

"  Surely  a  modest  girl  would,"  replied  Aunt  Dorothy, 
testily.  "  Malcolm,  you  know  nothing  of  women." 

"  Spoken  with  truth,"  thought  I. 

The  old  lady  continued  :  "  Modesty  and  love  have  noth 
ing  whatever  to  do  with  each  other.  When  love  comes  in 
at  the  door,  modesty  flies  out  at  the  window.  I  do  pity 
my  niece  with  all  my  heart,  and  in  good  truth  I  wish  I 
could  help  her,  though  of  course  I  would  not  have  her 
know  my  feeling.  I  feign  severity  toward  her,  but  I  do 
not  hesitate  to  tell  you  that  I  am  greatly  interested  in  her 
romance.  She  surely  is  deeply  in  love." 

"  That  is  a  true  word,  Aunt  Dorothy,"  said  the  love-lorn 
young  woman.  "  I  am  sure  she  is  fathoms  deep  in  love." 

"  Nothing,"  said  Lady  Crawford,  "  but  a  great  passion 
would  have  impelled  her  to  act  as  she  did.  Why,  even 
Mary  of  Burgundy,  with  all  her  modesty,  won  the  husband 
she  wanted,  ay,  and  had  him  at  the  cost  of  half  her  rich 
domain." 

"  I  wonder  if  Dorothy  will  ever  have  the  man  she 
wants  ? "  said  Malcolm,  sighing  in  a  manner  entirely  new 
to  him. 

"  No,"  answered  the  old  lady,  "  I  fear  there  is  no  hope 
for  Dorothy.  I  wonder  who  he  is  ?  Her  father  intends 
that  she  shall  soon  marry  Lord  Stanley.  Sir  George  told 
me  as  much  this  morning  when  he  started  for  Derby-town 
to  arrange  for  the  signing  of  the  marriage  contract  within 
a  day  or  two.  He  had  a  talk  yesterday  with  Dorothy. 
She,  I  believe,  has  surrendered  to  the  inevitable,  and  again 
there  is  good  feeling  between  her  and  my  brother." 

Dorothy  tossed  her  head  expressively. 


MALCOLM    NO.   2  179 

"It  is  a  good  match,"  continued  Lady  Crawford,  "a 
good  match,  Malcolm.  I  pity  Dorothy  ;  but  it  is  my  duty 
to  guard  her,  and  I  shall  do  it  faithfully." 

"  My  dear  Lady  Crawford,"  said  my  hat  and  cloak,  "  your 
words  and  feelings  do  great  credit  to  your  heart.  But 
have  you  ever  thought  that  your  niece  is  a  very  wilful  girl, 
and  that  she  is  full  of  disturbing  expedients  ?  Now  I  am 
willing  to  wager  my  beard  that  she  will,  sooner  than  you 
suspect,  see  her  lover.  And  I  am  also  willing  to  lay  a 
wager  that  she  will  marry  the  man  of  her  choice  despite  all 
the  watchfulness  of  her  father  and  yourself.  Keep  close 
guard  over  her,  my  lady,  or  she  will  escape." 

Lady  Crawford  laughed.  "  She  shall  not  escape.  Have 
no  fear  of  that,  Malcolm.  The  key  to  the  door  is  always 
safely  locked  in  my  reticule.  No  girl  can  outwit  me.  I 
am  too  old  to  be  caught  unawares  by  a  mere  child  like 
Dorothy.  It  makes  me  laugh,  Malcolm  —  although  I  am 
sore  at  heart  for  Dorothy's  sake  —  it  makes  me  laugh, 
with  a  touch  of  tears,  when  I  think  of  poor  simple  Doro 
thy's  many  little  artifices  to  gain  possession  of  this  key. 
They  are  amusing  and  pathetic.  Poor  child  !  But  I  am  too 
old  to  be  duped  by  a  girl,  Malcolm.  I  am  too  old.  She 
has  no  chance  to  escape." 

I  said  to  myself :  "  No  one  has  ever  become  too  old  to 
be  duped  by  a  girl  who  is  in  love.  Her  wits  grow  keen  as 
the  otter's  fur  grows  thick  for  the  winter's  need.  I  do  not 
know  your  niece's  plan  ;  but  if  I  mistake  not,  Aunt  Dorothy, 
you  will  in  one  respect,  at  least,  soon  be  rejuvenated." 

"  I  am  sure  Lady  Crawford  is  right  in  what  she  says," 
spoke  my  other  self,  "  and  Sir  George  is  fortunate  in  hav 
ing  for  his  daughter  a  guardian  who  cannot  be  hoodwinked 
and  who  is  true  to  a  distasteful  trust.  I  would  the  trouble 
were  over  and  that  Dorothy  were  well  married." 

"  So  wish  I,  Malcolm,  with  all  my  heart,"  replied  Aunt 
Dorothy. 


i8o  DOROTHY    VERNON 

After  a  brief  pause  in  the  conversation  Malcolm  No.  2 
said :  — 

"  I  must  now  take  my  leave.  Will  you  kindly  unlock 
the  door  and  permit  me  to  say  good  night  ? " 

"  If  you  must  go,"  answered  my  lady,  glad  enough  to  be 
left  alone  with  her  beloved  Sir  Philip.  Then  she  unlocked 
the  door. 

"  Keep  good  watch,  my  dear  aunt,"  said  Malcolm.  "  I 
greatly  fear  that  Dorothy  —  "  but  the  door  closed  on  the 
remainder  of  the  sentence  and  on  Dorothy  Vernon. 

"Nonsense!"  ejaculated  the  old  lady  somewhat  impa 
tiently.  "  Why  should  he  fear  for  Dorothy  ?  I  hope  I 
shall  not  again  be  disturbed."  And  soon  she  was  deep  in 
the  pages  of  her  book. 


CHAPTER   IX 

A  TRYST  AT  BOWLING  GREEN  GATE 

1WAS  at  a  loss  what  course  to  pursue,  and  I  remained 
for  a  moment  in  puzzling  thought.     I  went  back  to 
Madge,  and  after  closing  the  door,  told  her  of  all  I 
had  seen.     She  could  not  advise  me,  and  of   course  she 
was  deeply  troubled  and  concerned.     After  deliberating,  I 
determined  to  speak  to  Aunt  Dorothy  that  she  might  know 
what  had  happened.     So  I  opened  the  door  and  walked 
into  Lady  Crawford's  presence.     After  viewing  my  lady's 
back  for  a  short  time,  I  said :  — 

"  I  cannot  find  my  hat,  cloak,  and  sword.  I  left  them 
in  Dorothy's  bedroom.  Has  any  one  been  here  since  I 
entered  ? " 

The  old  lady  turned  quickly  upon  me,  "  Since  you  en 
tered  ? "  she  cried  in  wonderment  and  consternation. 
"  Since  you  left,  you  mean.  Did  you  not  leave  this  room 
a  few  minutes  ago  ?  What  means  this  ?  How  found  you 
entrance  without  the  key  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  leave  this  room,  Aunt  Dorothy;  you  see  I  am 
here,"  I  responded. 

"Who  did  leave?  Your  wraith?  Some  one — Doro 
thy  !  "  screamed  the  old  lady  in  terror.  "  That  girl ! !  — 
Holy  Virgin  !  where  is  she  ?  " 

Lady  Crawford  hastened  to  Dorothy's  room  and  returned 
to  me  in  great  agitation. 

"  Were  you  in  the  plot  ?  "  she  demanded  angrily. 

181 


182  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  No  more  than  were  you,  Lady  Crawford,"  I  replied, 
telling  the  exact  truth.  If  I  were  accessory  to  Dorothy's 
crime,  it  was  only  as  a  witness  and  Aunt  Dorothy  had  seen 
as  much  as  I. 

I  continued :  "  Dorothy  left  Lady  Madge  and  me  at 
the  window,  saying  she  wished  to  make  a  change  in  her 
garments.  I  was  watching  the  sunset  and  talking  with 
Lady  Madge." 

Lady  Crawford,  being  full  of  concern  about  the  main 
event,  —  Dorothy's  escape,  —  was  easily  satisfied  that  I  was 
not  accessory  before  the  fact 

"  What  shall  I  do,  Malcolm  ?  What  shall  I  do  ?  Help 
me,  quickly.  My  brother  will  return  in  the  morning  — 
perhaps  he  will  return  to-night  —  and  he  will  not  believe 
that  I  have  not  intentionally  permitted  Dorothy  to  leave 
the  Hall.  I  have  of  late  said  so  much  to  him  on  behalf 
of  the  girl  that  he  suspects  me  already  of  being  in  sym 
pathy  with  her.  He  will  not  believe  me  when  I  tell  him 
that  I  have  been  duped.  The  ungrateful,  selfish  girl ! 
How  could  she  so  unkindly  return  my  affection  !  " 

The  old  lady  began  to  weep. 

I  did  not  believe  that  Dorothy  intended  to  leave  Haddon 
Hall  permanently.  I  felt  confident  she  had  gone  out  only 
to  meet  John,  and  was  sure  she  would  soon  return.  On 
the  strength  of  that  opinion  I  said :  "  If  you  fear  that  Sir 
George  will  not  believe  you  —  he  certainly  will  blame  you 
—  would  it  not  be  better  to  admit  Dorothy  quietly  when 
she  returns  and  say  nothing  to  any  one  concerning  the 
escapade  ?  I  will  remain  here  in  these  rooms,  and  when 
she  returns  I  will  depart,  and  the  guards  will  never  suspect 
that  Dorothy  has  left  the  Hall." 

"  If  she  will  but  return,"  wailed  Aunt  Dorothy,  "  I  shall 
be  only  too  glad  to  admit  her  and  to  keep  silent." 

"  I  am  sure  she  will,"  I  answered.  "  Leave  orders  with 
the  guard  at  Sir  George's  door  to  admit  me  at  any  time 


TRYST   AT   BOWLING    GREEN    GATE     183 

during  the  night,  and  Dorothy  will  come  in  without  being 
recognized.  Her  disguise  must  be  very  complete  if  she 
could  deceive  you." 

"  Indeed,  her  disguise  is  complete,"  replied  the  tearful 
old  lady. 

Dorothy's  disguise  was  so  complete  and  her  resemblance 
to  me  had  been  so  well  contrived  that  she  met  with  no 
opposition  from  the  guards  in  the  retainer's  room  nor  from 
the  porter.  She  walked  out  upon  the  terrace  where  she 
strolled  for  a  short  time.  Then  she  climbed  over  the  wall 
at  the  stile  back  of  the  terrace  and  took  her  way  up  Bowl 
ing  Green  Hill  toward  the  gate.  She  sauntered  leisurely 
until  she  was  out  of  sight  of  the  Hall.  Then  gathering 
up  her  cloak  and  sword  she  sped  along  the  steep  path  to 
the  hill  crest  and  thence  to  the  gate. 

Soon  after  the  first  day  of  her  imprisonment  she  had 
sent  a  letter  to  John  by  the  hand  of  Jennie  Faxton,  ac 
quainting  him  with  the  details  of  all  that  had  happened. 
In  her  letter,  among  much  else,  she  said :  — 

"  My  true  love,  I  beg  you  to  haunt  with  your  presence 
Bowling  Green  Gate  each  day  at  the  hour  of  sunset.  I 
cannot  tell  you  when  I  shall  be  there  to  meet  you,  or 
surely  I  would  do  so  now.  But  be  there  I  will.  Let  no 
doubt  of  that  disturb  your  mind.  It  does  not  lie  in  the 
power  of  man  to  keep  me  from  you.  That  is,  it  lies  in  the 
power  of  but  one  man,  you,  my  love  and  my  lord,  and  I 
fear  not  that  you  will  use  your  power  to  that  end.  So  it 
is  that  I  beg  you  to  wait  for  me  at  sunset  hour  each  day 
near  by  Bowling  Green  Gate.  You  may  be  caused  to  wait 
for  me  a  long  weary  time ;  but  one  day,  sooner  or  later,  I 
shall  go  to  you,  and  then  —  ah,  then,  if  it  be  in  my  power 
to  reward  your  patience,  you  shall  have  no  cause  for 
complaint." 

When  Dorothy  reached  the  gate  she  found  it  securely 
locked.  She  peered  eagerly  through  the  bars,  hoping  to 


184  DOROTHY    VERNON 

see  John.  She  tried  to  shake  the  heavy  iron  structure  to 
assure  herself  that  it  could  not  be  opened. 

"Ah,  well,"  she  sighed,  "I  suppose  the  reason  love 
laughs  at  locksmiths  is  because  he  —  or  she  —  can  climb." 

Then  she  climbed  the  gate  and  sprang  to  the  ground  on 
the  Devonshire  side  of  the  wall. 

"  What  will  John  think  when  he  sees  me  in  this  attire  ?  " 
she  said  half  aloud.  "  Malcolm's  cloak  serves  but  poorly 
to  cover  me,  and  I  shall  instead  be  covered  with  shame 
and  confusion  when  John  comes.  I  fear  he  will  think 
I  have  disgraced  myself."  Then,  with  a  sigh,  "  But 
necessity  knows  no  raiment." 

She  strode  about  near  the  gate  for  a  few  minutes,  wish 
ing  that  she  were  indeed  a  man,  save  for  one  fact :  if  she 
were  not  a  woman,  John  would  not  love  her,  and,  above  all, 
she  could  not  love  John.  The  fact  that  she  could  and  did 
love  John  appealed  to  Dorothy  as  the  highest,  sweetest 
privilege  that  Heaven  or  earth  could  offer  to  a  human 
being. 

The  sun  had  sunk  in  the  west,  and  his  faint  parting 
glory  was  but  dimly  to  be  seen  upon  a  few  small  clouds 
that  floated  above  Overhaddon  Hill.  The  moon  was  past 
its  half  ;  and  the  stars,  still  yellow  and  pale  from  the  linger 
ing  glare  of  day,  waited  eagerly  to  give  their  twinkling  help 
in  lighting  the  night.  The  forest  near  the  gate  was  dense, 
and  withal  the  fading  light  of  the  sun  and  the  dawning 
beams  of  the  moon  and  stars,  deep  shadow  enveloped 
Dorothy  and  all  the  scene  about  her.  The  girl  was  disap 
pointed  when  she  did  not  see  Manners,  but  she  was  not 
vexed.  There  was  but  one  person  in  all  the  world  toward 
whom  she  held  a  patient,  humble  attitude  —  John.  If  he, 
in  his  greatness,  goodness,  and  condescension,  deigned  to 
come  and  meet  so  poor  a  person  as  Dorothy  Vernon,  she 
would  be  thankful  and  happy ;  if  he  did  not  come,  she 
would  be  sorrowful.  His  will  was  her  will,  and  she  would 


TRYST  AT  BOWLING    GREEN    GATE     185 

come  again  and  again  until  she  should  find  him  waiting  for 
her,  and  he  should  stoop  to  lift  her  into  heaven. 

If  there  is  a  place  in  all  the  earth  where  red  warm  blood 
counts  for  its  full  value,  it  is  in  a  pure  woman's  veins. 
Through  self-fear  it  brings  to  her  a  proud  reserve  toward 
all  mankind  till  the  right  one  comes.  Toward  him  it 
brings  an  eager  humbleness  that  is  the  essence  and  the 
life  of  Heaven  and  of  love.  Poets  may  praise  snowy 
women  as  they  will,  but  the  compelling  woman  is  she  of 
the  warm  blood.  The  snowy  woman  is  the  lifeless  seed, 
the  rainless  cloud,  the  unmagnetic  lodestone,  the  drossful 
iron.  The  great  laws  of  nature  affect  her  but  passively. 
If  there  is  aught  in  the  saying  of  the  ancients,  "  The  best 
only  in  nature  can  survive,"  the  day  of  her  extermination 
will  come.  Fire  is  as  chaste  as  snow,  and  infinitely  more 
comforting. 

Dorothy's  patience  was  not  to  be  tried  for  long.  Five 
minutes  after  she  had  climbed  the  gate  she  beheld  John 
riding  toward  her  from  the  direction  of  Rowsley,  and  her 
heart  beat  with  thrill  upon  thrill  of  joy.  She  felt  that  the 
crowning  moment  of  her  life  was  at  hand.  By  the  help 
of  a  subtle  sense  —  familiar  spirit  to  her  love  perhaps  — 
she  knew  that  John  would  ask  her  to  go  with  him  and  to 
be  his  wife,  despite  all  the  Rutlands  and  Vernons  dead, 
living,  or  to  be  born.  The  thought  of  refusing  him  never 
entered  her  mind.  Queen  Nature  was  on  the  throne  in 
the  fulness  of  power,  and  Dorothy,  in  perfect  attune  with 
her  great  sovereign,  was  fulfilling  her  destiny  in  accord 
ance  with  the  laws  to  which  her  drossless  being  was  en 
tirely  amenable. 

Many  times  had  the  fear  come  to  her  that  Sir  John 
Manners,  who  was  heir  to  the  great  earldom  of  Rutland,  — 
he  who  was  so  great,  so  good,  and  so  beautiful,  —  might 
feel  that  his  duty  to  his  house  past,  present,  and  future, 
and  the  obligations  of  his  position  among  the  grand  nobles 


*86  DOROTHY    VERNON 

of  the  realm,  should  deter  him  from  a  marriage  against 
•which  so  many  good  reasons  could  be  urged.  But  this 
evening  her  familiar  spirit  whispered  to  her  that  she  need 
not  fear,  and  her  heart  was  filled  with  joy  and  certainty. 

John  dismounted  and  tethered  his  horse  at  a  short  dis 
tance  from  the  gate.  He  approached  Dorothy,  but  halted 
•when  he  beheld  a  man  instead  of  the  girl  whom  he  longed 
to  meet.  His  hesitancy  surprised  Dorothy,  who,  in  her 
•eagerness,  had  forgotten  her  male  attire.  She  soon  saw, 
however,  that  he  did  not  recognize  her,  and  she  deter 
mined,  in  a  spirit  of  mischief,  to  maintain  her  incognito 
till  he  should  penetrate  her  disguise. 

She  turned  her  back  on  John  and  sauntered  leisurely 
about,  whistling  softly.  She  pretended  to  be  unconscious 
of  his  presence,  and  John,  who  felt  that  the  field  was  his 
by  the  divine  right  of  love,  walked  to  the  gate  and  looked 
through  the  bars  toward  Bowling  Green.  He  stood  at  the 
gate  for  a  short  time  with  indifference  in  his  manner  and 
irritation  in  his  heart.  He,  too,  tried  to  hum  a  tune,  but 
.failed.  Then  he  tried  to  whistle,  but  his  musical  efforts 
were  abortive.  There  was  no  music  in  him.  A  moment 
before  his  heart  had  been  full  of  harmony ;  but  when  he 
found  a  man  instead  of  his  sweetheart,  the  harmony  quickly 
turned  to  rasping  discord. 

John  was  not  a  patient  man,  and  his  impatience  was  apt 
to  take  the  form  of  words  and  actions.  A  little  aimless 
stalking  about  at  the  gate  was  more  than  enough  for  him, 
so  he  stepped  toward  the  intruder  and  lifted  his  hat. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  when  first  I 
saw  you  that  you  were  Sir  Malcolm  Vernon.  I  fancied  you 
bore  resemblance  to  him.  I  see  that  I  was  in  error." 

"Yes,  in  error,"  answered  my  beard. 

Again  the  two  gentlemen  walked  around  each  other  with 
great  amusement  on  the  part  of  one,  and  with  ever  increas 
ing  vexation  on  the  part  of  the  other. 


TRYST   AT  BOWLING    GREEN    GATE     187 

Soon  John  said,  "  May  I  ask  whom  have  I  the  honor  to 
address  ? " 

"  Certainly,  you  may  ask,"  was  the  response. 

A  silence  ensued  during  which  Dorothy  again  turned 
her  back  on  John  and  walked  a  few  paces  away  from  him. 
John's  patience  was  rapidly  oozing,  and  when  the  unknown 
intruder  again  turned  in  his  direction,  John  said  with  all  the 
gentleness  then  at  his  command :  — 

"Well,  sir,  I  do  ask." 

"Your  curiosity  is  flattering,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  returned  John.  "  My  curiosity  is  not 
intended  to  be  flattering.  I  — 

"I  hope  it  is  not  intended  to  be  insulting,  sir?"  asked, 
my  hat  and  cloak. 

"  That,  sir,  all  depends  upon  yourself,"  retorted  Johny 
warmly.  Then  after  an  instant  of  thought,  he  continued 
in  tones  of  conciliation  :  — 

"  I  have  an  engagement  of  a  private  nature  at  this  place. 
In  short,  I  hope  to  meet  a  —  a  friend  here  within  a  few  min 
utes  and  I  feel  sure  that  under  the  circumstances  so  gallant 
a  gentleman  as  yourself  will  act  with  due  consideration  for 
the  feelings  of  another.  I  hope  and  believe  that  you  will 
do  as  you  would  be  done  by." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  responded  the  gallant.  "  I  find 
no  fault  at  all  with  your  presence.  Please  take  no  account 
whatever  of  me.  I  assure  you  I  shall  not  be  in  the  least 
disturbed." 

John  was  somewhat  disconcerted. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  not  be  disturbed,"  replied  John,  strug 
gling  to  keep  down  his  temper,  "  but  I  fear  you  do  not 
understand  me.  I  hope  to  meet  a  —  a  lady  and  —  " 

"  I  hope  also  to  meet  a  —  a  friend,"  the  fellow  said  ;  "  but 
I  assure  you  we  shall  in  no  way  conflict." 

"May  I  ask,"  queried  John,  "if  you  expect  to  meet  a. 
gentleman  or  a  lady  ?  " 


i88  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Certainly  you  may  ask,"  was  the  girl's  irritating  reply. 

"Well,  well,  sir,  I  do  ask,"  said  John.  "Furthermore, 
I  demand  to  know  whom  you  expect  to  meet  at  this 
place." 

"  That,  of  course,  sir,  is  no  business  of  yours." 

"  But  I  shall  make  it  my  affair.  I  expect  to  meet  a  lady 
here,  my  sweetheart."  The  girl's  heart  jumped  with  joy. 
"  And  if  you  have  any  of  the  feelings  of  a  gentleman,  you 
must  know  that  your  presence  will  be  intolerable  to  me." 

"  Perhaps  it  will  be,  my  dear  sir,  but  I  have  as  good  a 
right  here  as  you  or  any  other.  If  you  must  know  all  about 
my  affairs,  I  tell  you  I,  too,  hope  to  meet  my  sweetheart 
at  this  place.  In  fact,  I  know  I  shall  meet  my  sweetheart, 
and,  my  good  fellow,  I  beg  to  inform  you  that  a  stranger's 
presence  would  be  very  annoying  to  me." 

John  was  at  his  wit's  end.  He  must  quickly  do  or  say 
something  to  persuade  this  stubborn  fellow  to  leave.  If 
Dorothy  should  come  and  see  two  persons  at  the  gate  she, 
of  course,  would  return  to  the  Hall.  Jennie  Faxton,  who 
knew  that  the  garments  were  finished,  had  told  Sir  John 
that  he  might  reasonably  expect  to  see  Dorothy  at  the  gate 
on  that  evening,  for  Sir  George  had  gone  to  Derby-town, 
presumably  to  remain  over  night. 

In  sheer  desperation  John  said,  "  I  was  here  first,  and 
I  claim  the  ground." 

"That  is  not  true,"  replied  the  other.  "I  have  been 
waiting  here  for  you  —  I  mean  for  the  person  I  am  to 
meet—  Dorothy  thought  she  had  betrayed  herself,  and 
that  John  would  surely  recognize  her.  "  I  had  been  wait 
ing  full  five  minutes  before  you  arrived." 

John's  blindness  in  failing  to  recognize  Dorothy  is  past 
my  understanding.  He  explained  it  to  me  afterward  by 
saying  that  his  eagerness  to  see  Dorothy,  and  his  fear,  nay 
almost  certainty,  that  she  could  not  come,  coupled  with  the 
hope  which  Jennie  Faxton  had  given  him,  had  so  completely 


TRYST  AT   BOWLING   GREEN    GATE     189 

occupied  his  mind  that  other  subjects  received  but  slight 
consideration. 

"  But  I  —  I  have  been  here  before  this  night  to  meet  —  " 

"  And  I  have  been  here  to  meet  —  quite  as  often  as  you, 
I  hope,"  retorted  Dorothy. 

They  say  that  love  blinds  a  man.  It  must  also  have 
deafened  John,  since  he  did  not  recognize  his  sweetheart's 
voice. 

"  It  may  be  true  that  you  have  been  here  before  this 
evening,"  retorted  John,  angrily ;  "  but  you  shall  not  remain 
here  now.  If  you  wish  to  save  yourself  trouble,  leave  at 
once.  If  you  stalk  about  in  the  forest,  I  will  run  you  through 
and  leave  you  for  the  crows  to  pick." 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  leaving,  and  if  I  were  to  do  so  you 
would  regret  it ;  by  my  beard,  you  would  regret  it,"  an 
swered  the  girl,  pleased  to  see  John  in  his  overbearing, 
commanding  mood.  His  stupidity  was  past  comprehension. 

"  Defend  yourself,"  said  John,  drawing  his  sword. 

"  Now  he  will  surely  know  the  truth,"  thought  Dorothy, 
but  she  said  :  "  I  am  much  younger  than  you,  and  am  not 
so  large  and  strong.  I  am  unskilled  in  the  use  of  a  sword, 
and  therefore  am  I  no  match  for  Sir  John  Manners  than 
whom,  I  have  heard,  there  is  no  better  swordsman,  stronger 
arm,  nor  braver  heart  in  England." 

'"  You  flatter  me,  my  friend,"  returned  John,  forced  into 
a  good  humor  against  his  will;  "but  you  must  leave.  He 
who  cannot  defend  himself  must  yield;  it  is  the  law  of 
nature  and  of  men." 

John  advanced  toward  Dorothy,  who  retreated  stepping 
backward,  holding  her  arm  over  her  face. 

"  I  am  ready  to  yield  if  you  wish.  In  fact,  I  am  eager 
to  yield  —  more  eager  than  you  can  know,"  she  cried. 

"  It  is  well,"  answered  John,  putting  his  sword  in  sheath. 

"  But,"  continued  Dorothy,  "  I  will  not  go  away." 

"Then  you  must  fight,"  said  John. 


190  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  I  tell  you  again  I  am  willing,  nay,  eager  to  yield  to  you, 
but  I  also  tell  you  I  cannot  fight  in  the  way  you  would 
have  me.  In  other  ways  perhaps  I  can  fight  quite  as  well 
as  anybody.  But  really,  I  am  ashamed  to  draw  my  sword, 
since  to  do  so  would  show  you  how  poorly  I  am  equipped 
to  defend  myself  under  your  great  laws  of  nature  and  of 
man.  Again,  I  wish  to  assure  you  that  I  am  more  than 
eager  to  yield ;  but  I  cannot  fight  you,  and  I  will  not  go 
away." 

The  wonder  never  ceases  that  John  did  not  recognize 
her.  She  took  no  pains  to  hide  her  identity,  and  after  a 
few  moments  of  concealment  she  was  anxious  that  John 
should  discover  her  under  my  garments. 

"  I  would  know  his  voice,"  she  thought,  "  did  he  wear 
all  the  petticoats  in  Derbyshire." 

"What  shall  I  do  with  you?"  cried  John,  amused  and 
irritated.  "  I  cannot  strike  you." 

"  No,  of  course  you  would  not  murder  me  in  cold  blood," 
answered  Dorothy,  laughing  heartily.  She  was  sure  her 
laughter  would  open  John's  eyes. 

"  I  cannot  carry  you  away,"  said  John. 

"  I  would  come  back  again,  if  you  did,"  answered  the 
irrepressible  fellow. 

"  I  suppose  you  would,"  returned  John,  sullenly.  "  In 
the  devil's  name,  tell  me  what  you  will  do.  Can  I  not  beg 
you  to  go  ? " 

"  Now,  Sir  John,  you  have  touched  me.  I  make  you 
this  offer :  you  expect  Mistress  Vernon  to  come  from  the 
Hall  —  " 

"  What  do  you  know  about  Mistress  Vernon  ? "  cried 
John.  "  By  God,  I  will  —  " 

"  Now  don't  grow  angry,  Sir  John,  and  please  don't 
swear  in  my  presence.  You  expect  her,  I  say,  to  come 
from  the  Hall.  What  I  propose  is  this :  you  shall  stand 
by  the  gate  and  watch  for  Doll  —  oh,  I  mean  Mistress 


TRYST   AT   BOWLING   GREEN   GATE     191 

Vernon  —  and  I  will  stand  here  behind  the  wall  where  she 
cannot  see  me.  When  she  comes  in  sight  —  though  in 
truth  I  don't  think  she  will  come,  and  I  believe  were  she 
under  your  very  nose  you  would  not  see  her  —  you  shall 
tell  me  and  I  will  leave  at  once ;  that  is,  if  you  wish  me  to 
leave.  After  you  see  Dorothy  Vernon  if  you  still  wish  me 
to  go,  I  pledge  my  faith  no  power  can  keep  me.  Now  is 
not  that  fair  ?  I  like  you  very  much,  and  I  want  to  remain 
here,  if  you  will  permit  me,  and  talk  to  you  for  a  little  time 
—  till  you  see  Doll  Vernon." 

"  Doll  Vernon,  fellow  ?  How  dare  you  so  speak  of  her  ?  " 
demanded  John,  hotly. 

"  Your  pardon  and  her  pardon,  I  beg  ;  Mistress  Vernonr 
soon  to  be  Countess  of  Derbyshire.  By  the  way,  I  wager 
you  a  gold  pound  sterling  that  by  the  time  you  see  Doll 
Vernon  —  Mistress  Vernon,  I  pray  your  pardon  —  you  will 
have  grown  so  fond  of  me  that  you  will  not  permit  me  to 
leave  you."  She  thought  after  that  speech  he  could  not 
help  but  know  her;  but  John's  skull  was  like  an  oaken 
board  that  night.  Nothing  could  penetrate  it.  He  began 
to  fancy  that  his  companion  was  a  simple  witless  person 
who  had  escaped  from  his  keepers. 

"  Will  you  take  the  wager  ?  "  asked  Dorothy. 

"  Nonsense !  "  was  the  only  reply  John  deigned  to  give 
to  so  foolish  a  proposition. 

"  Then  will  you  agree  that  I  shall  remain  at  the  gate  till 
Doll —  Mistress  Vernon  comes  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  make  the  best  terms  possible 
with  you,"  he  returned.  "  You  are  an  amusing  fellow  and 
as  perverse  as  a  woman." 

"  I  knew  you  would  soon  learn  to  like  me,"  she  re 
sponded.  "  The  first  step  toward  a  man's  affection  is  to 
amuse  him.  That  old  saw  which  says  the  road  to  a  man's 
heart  is  through  his  stomach,  is  a  sad  mistake.  Amuse 
ment  is  the  highway  to  a  man's  affections." 


192  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  It  is  better  that  one  laugh  with  us  than  at  us.  There 
is  a  vast  difference  in  the  two  methods,"  answered  John, 
contemptuously. 

"  You  dare  to  laugh  at  me,"  cried  Dorothy,  grasping  the 
hilt  of  her  sword,  and  pretending  to  be  angry.  John  waved 
her  off  with  his  hand,  and  laughingly  said,  "  Little  you 
know  concerning  the  way  to  a  man's  heart,  and  no  doubt 
less  of  the  way  to  a  woman's." 

"  I,  perhaps,  know  more  about  it  than  you  would  believe," 
returned  Malcolm  No.  2. 

"  If  you  know  aught  of  the  latter  subject,  it  is  more  than 
I  would  suppose,"  said  John.  "  It  is  absurd  to  say  that  a 
woman  can  love  a  man  who  is  unable  to  defend  himself." 

"  A  vain  man  thinks  that  women  care  only  for  men 
of  his  own  pattern,"  retorted  Dorothy.  "  Women  love  a 
strong  arm,  it  is  true,  but  they  also  love  a  strong  heart, 
and  you  see  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  of  you,  even  though  you 
have  twice  my  strength.  There  are  as  many  sorts  of 
bravery,  Sir  John,  as  —  as  there  are  hairs  in  my  beard." 

"  That  is  not  many,"  interrupted  John. 

"And,"  continued  the  girl,  "I  believe,  John,  —  Sir  John, 
—  you  possess  all  the  kinds  of  bravery  that  are  good." 

"  You  flatter  me,"  said  John. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Dorothy,  "  that  was  my  intent." 

After  that  unflattering  remark  there  came  a  pause. 
Then  the  girl  continued  somewhat  hesitatingly :  "Doubt 
less  many  women,  Sir  John,  have  seen  your  virtues  more 
clearly  than  even  I  see  them.  Women  have  a  keener  per 
ception  of  masculine  virtues  than  —  than  we  have." 

Dorothy  paused,  and  her  heart  beat  with  a  quickened  throb 
while  she  awaited  his  reply.  A  new  field  of  discovery  was 
opening  up  to  her  and  a  new  use  for  her  disguise. 

John  made  no  reply,  but  the  persistent  girl  pursued  her 
new  line  of  attack. 

"  Surely  Sir  John  Manners  has  had  many  sweethearts," 


TRYST  AT   BOWLING    GREEN    GATE     193 

said  Dorothy,  in  flattering  tones.  There  were  rocks  and 
shoals  ahead  for  John's  love  barge.  "  Many,  many,  I  am 
sure,"  the  girl  persisted. 

"  Ah,  a  few,  a  few,  I  admit,"  John  like  a  fool  re 
plied.  Dorothy  was  accumulating  disagreeable  informa- 
ation  rapidly. 

"  While  you  were  at  London  court,"  said  she,  "  the  fine 
ladies  must  have  sought  you  in  great  numbers  —  I  am  sure 
they  did." 

"  Perhaps,  oh,  perhaps,"  returned  John.  "  One  cannot 
always  remember  such  affairs."  His  craft  was  headed  for 
the  rocks.  Had  he  observed  Dorothy's  face,  he  would 
have  seen  the  storm  a-brewing. 

"  To  how  many  women,  Sir  John,  have  you  lost  your 
heart,  and  at  various  times  how  many  have  lost  their 
hearts  to  you  ?  "  asked  the  persistent  girl. —  "What  a  sense 
less  question,"  returned  John.  "A  dozen  times  or  more; 
perhaps  a  score  or  two  score  times.  I  cannot  tell  the 
exact  number.  I  did  not  keep  an  account." 

Dorothy  did  not  know  whether  she  wanted  to  weep  or 
be  angry.  Pique  and  a  flash  of  temper,  however,  saved 
her  from  tears,  and  she  said,  "  You  are  so  brave  and  hand 
some  that  you  must  have  found  it  a  very  easy  task  — 
much  easier  than  it  would  be  for  me  —  to  convince  those 
confiding  ones  of  your  affection  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  John,  plunging  full  sail  upon  the  breakers. 
"  I  admit  that  usually  they  have  been  quite  easy  to  con 
vince.  I  am  naturally  bold,  and  I  suppose  that  per 
haps —  that  is,  I  may  possibly  have  a  persuasive  trick 
about  me." 

Shades  of  good  men  who  have  blundered  into  ruin  over 
the  path  of  petty  vanity,  save  this  man !  But  no,  Dorothy 
must  drink  the  bitter  cup  of  knowledge  to  the  dregs. 

"  And  you  have  been  false  to  all  of  these  women  ?  "  she 
said. 


194  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Ah,  well,  you  know  —  the  devil  take  it !  A  man  can't 
be  true  to  a  score  of  women,"  replied  John. 

"I  am  sure  none  of  them  wished  you  to  be  true,"  the 
girl  answered,  restraining  her  tears  with  great  difficulty. 

At  that  point  in  the  conversation  John  began  to  suspect 
from  the  manner  and  shapeliness  of  his  companion  that  a 
woman  had  disguised  herself  in  man's  attire.  Yet  it  did 
not  once  occur  to  him  that  Dorothy's  fair  form  was  concealed 
within  the  disguise.  He  attempted  to  lift  my  soft  beaver 
hat,  the  broad  rim  of  which  hid  Dorothy's  face,  but  to  that 
she  made  a  decided  objection,  and  John  continued  :  "  By  my 
soul  I  believe  you  are  a  woman.  Your  walk  "  —  Dorothy 
thought  she  had  been  swaggering  like  a  veritable  swash 
buckler —  "your  voice,  the  curves  of  your  form,  all  betray 
you."  Dorothy  gathered  the  cloak  closely  about  her. 

"  I  would  know  more  of  you,"  said  John,  and  he  stepped 
toward  the  now  interesting  stranger.  But  she  drew  away 
from  him,  and  told  him  to  keep  hands  off. 

"  Oh,  I  am  right.     You  are  a  woman,"  said  John. 

Dorothy  had  maintained  the  disguise  longer  than  she 
wished,  and  was  willing  that  John  should  discover  her 
identity.  At  first  it  had  been  rare  sport  to  dupe  him  ;  but 
the  latter  part  of  her  conversation  had  given  her  no  pleas 
ure.  She  was  angry,  jealous,  and  hurt  by  what  she  had 
learned. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "  I  admit  that  I  am  a — a  woman. 
Now  I  must  go." 

"  Stay  but  one  moment,"  pleaded  John,  whose  curiosity 
and  gallantry  were  aroused.  "  I  will  watch  for  Mistress 
Vernon,  and  when  she  appears  then  you  may  go." 

"  I  told  you  that  you  would  want  me  to  remain,"  said 
the  girl  with  a  sigh.  She  was  almost  ready  to  weep. 
Then  she  thought :  "  I  little  dreamed  I  was  coming  here 
for  this.  I  will  carry  the  disguise  a  little  farther,  and  will, 
perhaps,  learn  enough  to — to  break  my  heart." 


TRYST   AT   BOWLING   GREEN    GATE     195 

She  was  soon  to  learn  all  she  wanted  to  know  and  a 
great  deal  more. 

"  Come  sit  by  me  on  this  stone,"  said  John,  coaxingly. 
The  girl  complied,  and  drew  the  cloak  over  her  knees. 

"Tell  me  why  you  are  here,"  he  asked. 

"To  meet  a  gentleman,"  she  replied,  with  low-bent  face. 

"  Tell  me  your  name,"  John  asked,  as  he  drew  my  glove 
from  her  passive  hand.  John  held  the  hand  in  his,  and 
after  examining  it  in  the  dim  light  saw  that  it  was  a  great 
deal  more  than  good  to  look  upon.  Then  he  lifted  it  to 
his  lips  and  said  : 

"  Since  our  sweethearts  have  disappointed  us,  may  we 
not  console  ourselves  with  each  other?"  He  placed  his 
arm  around  the  girl's  waist  and  drew  her  yielding  form 
toward  him.  Dorothy,  unobserved  by  John,  removed  the 
false  beard  and  moustachio,  and  when  John  put  his  arm 
about  her  waist  and  leaned  forward  to  kiss  the  fair  accom 
modating  neighbor  she  could  restrain  her  tears  no  longer 
and  said :  — 

"  That  would  be  no  consolation  for  me,  John ;  that 
would  be  no  consolation  for  me.  How  can  you  ?  How 
can  you  ? " 

She  rose  to  her  feet  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands 
in  a  paroxysm  of  weeping.  John,  too,  sprang  to  his  feet, 
you  may  be  sure.  "  Dorothy  !  God  help  me !  I  am  the 
king  of  fools.  Curse  this  hour  in  which  I  have  thrown 
away  my  heaven.  You  must  hate  and  despise  me,  fool, 
fool  that  I  am." 

John  knew  that  it  were  worse  than  useless  for  him  to 
attempt  an  explanation.  The  first  thought  that  flashed 
through  his  mind  was,  to  tell  the  girl  that  he  had  only 
pretended  not  to  know  her.  He  thought  he  would  try  to 
make  her  believe  that  he  had  been  turning  her  trick  upon 
herself ;  but  he  was  wise  in  his  day  and  generation,  and 
did  not  seek  refuge  in  that  falsehood. 


196  DOROTHY    VERNON 

The  girl  would  never  have  forgiven  him  for  that. 

"The  only  amends  I  can  make,"  he  said,  in  very  dole- 
fulness,  "  is  that  I  may  never  let  you  see  my  face  again." 

"That  will  not  help  matters,"  sobbed  Dorothy. 

"  I  know  it  will  not,"  returned  John.  "  Nothing  can 
help  me.  I  can  remain  here  no  longer.  I  must  leave 
you.  I  cannot  even  ask  you  to  say  farewell.  Mistress 
Vernon,  you  do  not  despise  me  half  so  bitterly  as  I  despise 
myself." 

Dorothy  was  one  of  those  rare  natures  to  whom  love 
comes  but  once.  It  had  come  to  her  and  had  engulfed  her 
whole  being.  To  part  with  it  would  be  like  parting  with 
life  itself.  It  was  her  tyrant,  her  master.  It  was  her  ego. 
She  could  no  more  throw  it  off  than  she  could  expel  her 
self  from  her  own  existence.  All  this  she  knew  full  well, 
for  she  had  analyzed  her  conditions,  and  her  reason  had 
joined  with  all  her  other  faculties  in  giving  her  a  clear 
concept  of  the  truth.  She  knew  she  belonged  to  John 
Manners  for  life  and  for  eternity.  She  also  knew  that  the 
chance  of  seeing  him  soon  again  was  very  slight,  and  to 
part  from  him  now  in  aught  but  kindness  would  almost 
kill  her. 

Before  John  had  recognized  Dorothy  he  certainly  had 
acted  like  a  fool,  but  with  the  shock  of  recognition  came 
wisdom.  All  the  learning  of  the  ancients  and  all  the  cun 
ning  of  the  prince  of  darkness  could  not  have  taught  him 
a  wiser  word  with  which  to  make  his  peace,  "  I  may  never 
let  you  see  my  face  again."  That  was  more  to  be  feared 
by  Dorothy  than  even  John's  inconstancy. 

Her  heart  was  full  of  trouble.  "  I  do  not  know  what  I 
wish,"  she  said  simply.  "  Give  me  a  little  time  to  think." 

John's  heart  leaped  with  joy,  but  he  remained  silent. 

Dorothy  continued  :  "  Oh,  that  I  had  remained  at  home. 
I  would  to  God  I  had  never  seen  Derby-town  nor  you." 

John  in  the  fulness  of  his  wisdom  did  not  interrupt  her. 


TRYST   AT    BOWLING    GREEN    GATE     197 

"  To  think  that  I  have  thus  made  a  fool  of  myself  about 
a  man  who  has  given  his  heart  to  a  score  of  women." 

"This  is  torture,"  moaned  John,  in  real  pain. 

"  But,"  continued  Dorothy,  "  I  could  not  remain  away 
from  this  place  when  I  had  the  opportunity  to  come  to 
you.  I  felt  that  I  must  come.  I  felt  that  I  should  die 
if  I  did  not.  And  you  are  so  false.  I  wish  I  were  dead. 
A  moment  ago,  had  I  been  another  woman,  you  would 
have  kissed  her.  You  thought  I  was  another  woman." 

John's  wisdom  stood  by  him  nobly.  He  knew  he  could 
neither  explain  successfully  nor  beg  forgiveness.  He 
simply  said :  "  I  cannot  remain  and  look  you  in  the  face. 
If  I  dare  make  any  request,  it  is  that  despite  all  you  have 
heard  from  my  lips  you  will  still  believe  that  I  love  you, 
and  that  in  all  my  life  I  have  never  loved  any  one  so  dearly. 
There  is  no  other  woman  for  me." 

"You  doubtless  spoke  the  same  false  words  to  the  other 
two  score  women,"  said  Dorothy.  Tears  and  sobs  were 
playing  sad  havoc  with  her  powers  of  speech. 

"  Farewell,  Mistress  Vernon,"  replied  John.  "  I  should 
be  shameless  if  I  dared  ask  you  to  believe  any  word  I  can 
utter.  Forget,  if  possible,  that  I  ever  existed ;  forget  me 
that  you  may  not  despise  me.  I  am  unworthy  to  dwell 
even  in  the  smallest  of  your  thoughts.  I  am  altogether 
base  and  contemptible." 

"  N-o-o,"  sighed  Dorothy,  poutingly,  while  she  bent  low 
her  head  and  toyed  with  the  gold  lace  of  my  cloak. 

"  Farewell,"  said  John.  He  took  a  step  or  two  backward 
from  her. 

"  You  are  over-eager  to  leave,  it  seems  to  me,"  said  the 
girl  in  an  injured  tone.  "  I  wonder  that  you  came  at  all." 
John's  heart  was  singing  hosanna.  He,  however,  main 
tained  his  voice  at  a  mournful  pitch  and  said  :  "  I  must 
go.  I  can  no  longer  endure  to  remain."  While  he  spoke 
he  moved  toward  his  horse,  and  his  head  was  bowed  with 


i<)$  DOROTHY    VERNON 

real  shame  as  he  thought  of  the  pitiable  fool  he  had  made 
of  himself.  Dorothy  saw  him  going  from  her,  and  she 
called  to  him  softly  and  reluctantly,  "John." 

He  did  not  hear  her,  or  perhaps  he  thought  best  to  pre 
tend  that  he  did  not  hear,  and  as  he  moved  from  her  the 
girl  became  desperate.  Modesty,  resentment,  insulted 
womanhood  and  injured  pride  were  all  swept  away  by  the 
stream  of  her  mighty  love,  and  she  cried  again,  this  time 
without  hesitancy  or  reluctance,  "John,  John."  She 
started  to  run  toward  him,  but  my  cloak  was  in  her  way, 
and  the  sword  tripped  her  feet.  In  her  fear  lest  John 
might  leave  her,  she  unclasped  the  sword-belt  from  her 
waist  and  snatched  the  cloak  from  her  shoulders.  Freed 
from  these  hindrances,  she  ran  toward  John. 

"John,  do  not  leave  me.  Do  not  leave  me."  As  she 
spoke,  she  reached  an  open  space  among  the  trees  and 
John  turned  toward  her.  Her  hat  had  fallen  off,  and  the 
red  golden  threads  of  her  hair,  freed  from  their  fastenings, 
streamed  behind  her.  Never  before  had  a  vision  of  such 
exquisite  loveliness  sped  through  the  moonbeams.  So 
entrancing  was  her  beauty  to  John  that  he  stood  motion 
less  in  admiration.  He  did  not  go  to  meet  her  as  he 
should  have  done,  and  perhaps  as  he  would  have  done  had 
his  senses  not  been  wrapped  in  benumbing  wonderment. 
His  eyes  were  unable  to  interpret  to  his  brain  all  her 
marvellous  beauty,  and  his  other  senses  abandoning  their 
proper  functions  had  hastened  to  the  assistance  of  his  sight. 
He  saw,  he  heard,  he  felt  her  loveliness.  Thus  occupied 
he  did  not  move,  so  Dorothy  ran  to  him  and  fell  upon  his 
breast. 

"You  did  not  come  to  meet  me,"  she  sobbed.  "You 
made  me  come  all  the  way,  to  forgive  you.  Cruel,  cruel !  " 

John  held  the  girl  in  his  arms,  but  he  did  not  dare  to 
kiss  her,  and  his  self-denial  soon  brought  its  reward.  He 
had  not  expected  that  she  would  come  a  beggar  to  him. 


TRYST   AT    BOWLING    GREEN    GATE     199 

The  most  he  had  dared  to  hope  was  that  she  would  listen 
to  his  prayer  for  forgiveness.  With  all  his  worldly  wisdom 
John  had  not  learned  the  fact  that  inconstancy  does  not 
destroy  love  in  the  one  who  suffers  by  reason  of  it ;  nor 
did  he  know  of  the  exquisite  pain-touched  happiness  which 
comes  to  a  gentle,  passionate  heart  such  as  Dorothy's  from 
the  mere  act  of  forgiving. 

"  Is  it  possible  you  can  forgive  me  for  the  miserable  lies 
I  have  uttered  ?  "  asked  John,  almost  unconscious  of  the 
words  he  was  speaking.  "Is  it  possible  you  can  forgive 
me  for  uttering  those  lies,  Dorothy  ? "  he  repeated. 

She  laid  her  head  upon  his  breast,  and  softly  passing 
her  hand  over  the  lace  of  his  doublet,  whispered :  — 

"  If  I  could  believe  they  were  lies,  I  could  easily  forgive 
you,"  she  answered  between  low  sobs  and  soft  sighs. 
Though  she  was  a  woman,  the  sweet  essence  of  childhood 
was  in  her  heart. 

"  But  you  cannot  believe  me,  even  when  I  tell  you  that 
I  spoke  not  the  truth,"  answered  John,  with  growing  faith 
in  his  system  of  passive  repentance.  Again  came  the 
sighs,  and  a  few  struggling,  childish  sobs. 

"  It  is  easy  for  us  to  believe  that  which  we  long  to  be 
lieve,"  she  said.  Then  she  turned  her  face  upward  to  him, 
and  John's  reward  was  altogether  disproportioned  to  the 
self-denial  he  had  exercised  a  few  minutes  before.  She 
rewarded  him  far  beyond  his  deserts;  and  after  a  pause 
she  said  mischievously  :  — 

"  You  told  me  that  you  were  a  bold  man  with  women,  and 
I  know  that  at  least  that  part  of  what  you  said  was  untrue, 
for  you  are  a  bashful  man,  John,  you  are  downright  bashful. 
It  is  I  who  have  been  bold.  You  were  too  timid  to  woo  me, 
and  I  so  longed  for  you  that  I  —  I — was  not  timid." 

"  For  God's  sake,  Dorothy,  I  beg  you  to  have  pity  and 
to  make  no  jest  of  me.  Your  kindness  almost  kills  me, 
and  your  ridicule  —  " 


200  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  There,  there,  John,"  whispered  the  girl,  "  I  will  never 
again  make  a  jest  of  you  if  it  gives  you  pain.  Tell  me, 
John,  tell  me  truly,  was  it  all  false  —  that  which  you  told 
me  about  the  other  women  ?  " 

There  had  been  more  truth  in  John's  bragging  than  he 
cared  to  confess.  He  feared  and  loathed  a  lie ;  so  he  said 
evasively,  but  with  perfect  truth  :  — 

"  You  must  know,  my  goddess.  If  you  do  not  know 
without  the  telling  that  I  love  you  with  all  my  being ;  if 
you  do  not  know  that  there  is  for  me  and  ever  will  be  no 
woman  but  you  in  all  the  world ;  if  you  do  not  know  that 
you  have  stolen  my  soul  and  that  I  live  only  in  your  pres 
ence,  all  that  I  can  say  will  avail  nothing  toward  convinc 
ing  you.  I  am  almost  crazed  with  love  for  you,  and  with 
pain  and  torture.  For  the  love  of  God  let  me  leave  you 
that  I  may  hide  my  face." 

"  Never,"  cried  the  girl,  clasping  her  hands  about  his 
neck  and  pressing  her  lips  gently  upon  his.  "  Never. 
There,  that  will  soothe  you,  won't  it,  John  ? " 

It  did  soothe  him,  and  in  the  next  moment,  John,  almost 
frenzied  with  joy,  hurt  the  girl  by  the  violence  of  his  em 
braces  ;  but  she,  woman-like,  found  her  heaven  in  the  pain. 

They  went  back  to  the  stone  bench  beside  the  gate,  and 
after  a  little  time  Dorothy  said :  — 

"  But  tell  me,  John,  would  you  have  kissed  the  other 
woman  ?  Would  you  really  have  done  it  ? " 

John's  honesty  certainly  was  good  policy  in  that  instance. 
The  adroit  girl  had  set  a  trap  for  him. 

"  I  suppose  I  would,"  answered  John,  with  a  groan. 

"  It  hurts  me  to  hear  the  fact,"  said  Dorothy,  sighing ; 
"  but  it  pleases  me  to  hear  the  truth.  I  know  all  else  you 
tell  me  is  true.  I  was  trying  you  when  I  asked  the 
question,  for  I  certainly  knew  what  you  intended  to  do. 
A  woman  instinctively  knows  when  a  man  is  going  to  —  to 
—  when  anything  of  that  sort  is  about  to  happen." 


''IF    Yor    KILL    HIM,    JoHN,    IT    WILL    BREAK    MY    HEART.'" 


TRYST    AT    BOWLING    GREEN    GATE     201 

"  How  does  she  know  ?  "  asked  John. 

Rocks  and  breakers  ahead  for  Dorothy. 

"I  cannot  tell  you,"  replied  the  girl,  naively,  "but  she 
knows." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  the  awakened  desire  in  her  own  heart 
which  forewarns  her,"  said  John,  stealthily  seeking  from 
Dorothy  a  truth  that  would  pain  him  should  he  learn  it. 

"  I  suppose  that  is  partly  the  source  of  her  knowledge," 
replied  the  knowing  one,  with  a  great  show  of  innocence 
in  her  manner.  John  was  in  no  position  to  ask  imperti 
nent  questions,  nor  had  he  any  right  to  grow  angry  at 
unpleasant  discoveries ;  but  he  did  both,  although  for  a  time 
he  suppressed  the  latter. 

"  You  believe  she  is  sure  to  know,  do  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Usually,"  she  replied.  "  Of  course  there  are  times 
when  —  when  it  happens  so  suddenly  that  —  " 

John  angrily  sprang  to  his  feet,  took  a  few  hurried  steps 
in  front  of  Dorothy,  who  remained  demurely  seated  with 
her  eyes  cast  down,  and  then  again  he  took  his  place  beside 
her  on  the  stone  bench.  He  was  trembling  with  anger  and 
jealousy.  The  devil  was  in  the  girl  that  night  for  mischief. 

"  I  suppose  you  speak  from  the  fulness  of  your  experi 
ence,"  demanded  John,  in  tones  that  would  have  been 
insulting  had  they  not  been  pleasing  to  the  girl.  She  had 
seen  the  drift  of  John's  questions  at  an  early  stage  of  the 
conversation,  and  his  easily  aroused  jealousy  was  good 
proof  to  her  of  his  affection.  After  all,  she  was  in  no 
danger  from  rocks  and  breakers.  She  well  knew  the  cur 
rents,  eddies,  rocks,  and  shoals  of  the  sea  she  was  navigat 
ing,  although  she  had  never  before  sailed  it.  Her  fore- 
mothers,  all  the  way  back  to  Eve,  had  been  making  charts 
of  those  particular  waters  for  her  especial  benefit.  Why 
do  we,  a  slow-moving,  cumbersome  army  of  men,  continue 
to  do  battle  with  the  foe  at  whose  hands  defeat  is  always 
our  portion  ? 


202  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Experience  ?  "  queried  Dorothy,  her  head  turned  to 
one  side  in  a  half-contemplative  attitude.  "  Experience  ? 
Of  course  that  is  the  only  way  we  learn  anything." 

John  again  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  again  he  sat  down 
beside  the  girl.  He  had  so  recently  received  forgiveness 
for  his  own  sins  that  he  dared  not  be  unforgiving  toward 
Dorothy.  He  did  not  speak,  and  she  remained  silent, 
willing  to  allow  time  for  the  situation  to  take  its  full  effect. 
The  wisdom  of  the  serpent  is  black  ignorance  compared 
with  the  cunning  of  a  girl  in  Dorothy's  situation.  God 
gives  her  wit  for  the  occasion  as  He  gives  the  cat  soft 
paws,  sharp  claws,  and  nimbleness.  She  was  teaching 
John  a  lesson  he  would  never  forget.  She  was  binding 
him  to  her  with  hoops  of  steel. 

"  I  know  that  I  have  not  the  right  to  ask,"  said  John, 
suppressing  his  emotions,  "  but  may  I  know  merely  as 
a  matter  of  trivial  information  —  may  I  know  the  name  of 
—  of  the  person  —  this  fellow  with  whom  you  have  had  so 
full  an  experience  ?  God  curse  him  !  Tell  me  his  name." 
He  caught  the  girl  violently  by  both  arms  as  if  he  would 
shake  the  truth  out  of  her.  He  was  unconsciously  mak 
ing  full  amends  for  the  faults  he  had  committed  earlier  in 
the  evening.  The  girl  made  no  answer.  John's  powers 
of  self-restraint,  which  were  not  of  the  strongest  order,  were 
exhausted,  and  he  again  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stood  tow 
ering  before  her  in  a  passion.  "  Tell  me  his  name,"  he 
said  hoarsely.  "  I  demand  it.  I  will  not  rest  till  I  kill 
him." 

"  If  you  would  kill  him,  I  surely  will  not  tell  you  his 
name.  In  truth,  I  admit  I  am  very  fond  of  him." 

"  Speak  not  another  word  to  me  till  you  tell  me  his 
name,"  stormed  John.  I  feel  sorry  for  John  when  I  think 
of  the  part  he  played  in  this  interview;  but  every  man 
knows  well  his  condition. 

"I  care  not,"  continued  John,  "in  what  manner  I  have 


TRYST  AT  BOWLING    GREEN    GATE     203 

offended  you,  nor  does  my  debt  of  gratitude  to  you  for 
your  generosity  in  forgiving  my  sins  weigh  one  scruple 
against  this  you  have  told  me.  No  man,  unless  he  were 
a  poor  clown,  would  endure  it;  and  I  tell  you  now,  with 
all  my  love  for  you,  I  will  not — I  will  not!  " 

Dorothy  was  beginning  to  fear  him.  She  of  course  did 
not  fear  personal  violence ;  but  after  all,  while  he  was 
slower  than  she,  he  was  much  stronger  every  way,  and 
when  aroused,  his  strength  imposed  itself  upon  her  and 
she  feared  to  play  him  any  farther. 

"Sit  beside  me,  John,  and  I  will  tell  you  his  name,"  said 
the  girl,  looking  up  to  him,  and  then  casting  down  her 
eyes.  A  dimpling  smile  was  playing  about  her  lips. 

"  No,  I  will  not  sit  by  you,"  replied  John,  angrily.  She 
partly  rose,  and  taking  him  by  the  arm  drew  him  to  her 
side. 

"Tell  me  his  name,"  again  demanded  John,  sitting  rigidly 
by  Dorothy.  "Tell  me  his  name." 

"  Will  you  kill  him  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  That  I  will,"  he  answered.  "  Of  that  you  may  rest 
assured." 

"  If  you  kill  him,  John,  it  will  break  my  heart ;  for  to  do 
so,  you  must  commit  suicide.  There  is  no  other  man  but 
you,  John.  With  you  I  had  my  first,  last,  and  only  expe 
rience." 

John,  of  course,  was  speechless.  He  had  received  only 
what  he  deserved.  I  freely  admit  he  played  the  part  of  a 
fool  during  this  entire  interview  with  Dorothy,  and  he  was 
more  fully  convinced  of  the  fact  than  either  you  or  I  can 
be.  I  do  not  like  to  have  a  fool  for  the  hero  of  my  history ; 
but  this  being  a  history  and  not  a  romance,  I  must  tell  you 
of  events  just  as  they  happened,  and  of  persons  exactly  as 
they  were,  else  my  conscience  will  smite  me  for  untruth- 
fulness.  Dorothy's  last  assault  was  too  much  for  John. 
He  could  neither  parry  nor  thrust. 


204  DOROTHY    VERNON 

Her  heart  was  full  of  mirth  and  gladness. 

"  None  other  but  you,  John,"  she  repeated,  leaning  for 
ward  in  front' of  him,  and  looking  up  into  his  eyes.  A  ray 
of  moonlight  stealing  its  way  between  the  forest  boughs 
fell  upon  her  upturned  face  and  caused  it  to  glow  with  a 
goddess-like  radiance. 

"  None  but  you,  John.  There  never  has  been  and  there 
never  shall  be  another." 

When  John's  consciousness  returned  he  said,  "  Dorothy, 
can  you  love  such  a  fool  as  I  ? " 

"That  I  can  and  that  I  do  with  all  my  heart,"  she 
returned. 

"  And  can  you  forgive  me  for  this  last  fault  —  for  doubt 
ing  you  ? " 

"That  is  easily  done,"  she  answered  softly,  "because 
doubt  is  the  child  of  love." 

"  But  you  do  not  doubt  me  ?  "  he  replied. 

"  N-o-o,"  she  answered  somewhat  haltingly;  "but  I  — 
I  am  a  woman." 

"  And  a  woman's  heart  is  the  home  of  faith,"  said  John, 
reverentially. 

"Y-e-s,"  she  responded,  still  not  quite  sure  of  her 
ground.  "  Sometimes  it  is  the  home  of  too  much  faith, 
but  faith,  like  virtue,  is  its  own  reward.  Few  persons  are 
false  to  one  who  gives  a  blind,  unquestioning  faith.  Even 
a  poor  degree  of  honor  responds  to  it  in  kind." 

"  Dorothy,  I  am  so  unworthy  of  you  that  I  stand  abashed 
in  your  presence,"  replied  John. 

"  No,  you  are  not  unworthy  of  me.  We  don't  look  for 
unmixed  good  in  men,"  said  the  girl  with  a  mischievous 
little  laugh.  Then  seriously  :  "  Those  virtues  you  have  are 
so  great  and  so  strong,  John,  that  my  poor  little  virtues, 
while  they  perhaps  are  more  numerous  than  yours,  are  but 
weak  things  by  comparison.  In  truth,  there  are  some 
faults  in  men  -which  we  women  do  not  —  do  not  altogether 


TRYST  AT   BOWLING    GREEN   GATE     205 

dislike.  They  cause  us  —  they  make  us  —  oh,  I  cannot 
express  exactly  what  I  mean.  They  make  us  more  eager 
perhaps.  A  too  constant  man  is  like  an  overstrong  sweet : 
he  cloys  us.  The  faults  I  speak  of  hurt  us ;  but  we 
thrive  on  them.  Women  enjoy  pain  now  and  then.  Mal 
colm  was  telling  me  the  other  day  that  the  wise  people  of 
the  East  have  a  saying  :  '  Without  shadow  there  can  be  no 
light ;  without  death  there  can  be  no  life ;  without  suffer 
ing  there  can  be  no  joy.'  Surely  is  that  saying  true  of 
women.  She  who  suffers  naught  enjoys  naught.  When 
a  woman  becomes  passive,  John,  she  is  but  a  clod.  Pain 
gives  us  a  vent  —  a  vent  for  something,  I  know  not  what 
it  is  ;  but  this  I  know,  we  are  happier  for  it." 

"  I  fear,  Dorothy,  that  I  have  given  you  too  much  '  vent,' 
as  you  call  it,"  said  John. 

"  No,  no,"  she  replied.  "  That  was  nothing.  My  great 
vent  is  that  I  can  pour  out  my  love  upon  you,  John,  with 
out  stint.  Now  that  I  know  you  are  mine,  I  have  some 
one  whom  I  can  deluge  with  it.  Do  you  know,  John,  I 
believe  that  when  God  made  me  He  collected  together  the 
requisite  portions  of  reason,  imagination,  and  will,  —  there 
was  a  great  plenty  of  will,  John, —  and  all  the  other  ingre 
dients  that  go  to  make  a  human  being.  But  after  He  had 
gotten  them  all  together  there  was  still  a  great  space  left 
to  be  filled,  and  He  just  threw  in  an  immensity  of  love  with 
which  to  complete  me.  Therefore,  John,  am  I  not  in  true 
proportion.  There  is  too  much  love  in  me,  and  it  wells 
up  at  times  and  overflows  my  heart.  How  thankful  I 
should  be  that  I  may  pour  it  upon  you  and  that  it  will 
not  be  wasted.  How  good  you  are  to  give  me  the  sweet 
privilege." 

"  How  thankful  should  I  be,  Dorothy.  I  have  never 
known  you  till  this  night.  I  am  unworthy  —  " 

"  Not  another  word  of  that  sort,  John,"  she  interrupted, 
covering  his  mouth  with  her  hand. 


206  DOROTHY    VERNON 

They  stood  for  a  long  time  talking  a  deal  of  celestial 
nonsense  which  I  shall  not  give  you.  I  fear  I  have  al 
ready  given  you  too  much  of  what  John  and  Dorothy  did 
and  said  in  this  very  sentimental  interview.  But  in  no 
other  way  can  I  so  well  make  you  to  know  the  persons  of 
whom  I  write.  I  might  have  said  Dorothy  was  so  and 
so,  and  John  was  such  and  such.  I  might  have  analyzed 
them  in  long,  dull  pages  of  minute  description ;  but  it  is 
that  which  persons  do  and  say  that  gives  us  true  concept 
of  their  characters ;  what  others  say  about  them  is  little 
else  than  a  mere  statement  that  black  is  black  and  white 
is  white.  But  to  my  story  again. 

Dorothy  by  her  beauty  had  won  John's  admiration  when 
first  he  beheld  her.  When  he  met  her  afterward,  her 
charms  of  mind  and  her  thousand  winsome  ways  moved 
him  deeply.  But  upon  the  evening  of  which  I  am  now 
telling  you  he  beheld  for  the  first  time  her  grand  burning 
soul,  and  he  saw  her  pure  heart  filled  to  overflowing  with 
its  dangerous  burden  of  love,  right  from  the  hands  of  God 
Himself,  as  the  girl  had  said.  John  was  of  a  coarser 
fibre  than  she  who  had  put  him  up  for  her  idol ;  but  his 
sensibilities  were  keen,  and  at  their  awakening  he  saw 
clearly  the  worth  of  the  priceless  treasure  which  pro 
pitious  fate  had  given  him  in  the  love  of  Dorothy,  and 
he  sat  humbly  at  her  feet.  Yet  she  knew  it  not,  but 
sat  humbly  at  John's  feet  the  happiest  woman  in  all  the 
world  because  of  her  great  good  fortune  in  having  a  demi 
god  upon  whom  she  could  lavish  the  untold  wealth  of  her 
heart.  If  you  are  a  woman,  pray  God  that  He  may  touch 
your  eyes  with  Dorothy's  blessed  blindness.  There  is  a 
heaven  in  the  dark  for  you,  if  you  can  find  it. 

I  must  leave  the  scene,  though  I  am  loath  to  do  so.  Sel 
dom  do  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  human  soul,  and  more 
seldom  still  does  it  show  itself  like  a  gust  of  God's  breath 
upon  the  deep  of  eternity  as  it  did  that  night  in  Dorothy. 


TRYST  AT    BOWLING  GREEN   GATE     207 

After  a  time  John  said  :  "  I  have  your  promise  to  be  my 
wife.  Do  you  still  wish  to  keep  it  ? " 

"  What  an  absurd  question,  John,"  replied  the  girl, 
laughing  softly  and  contentedly.  "  Why  else  am  I  here  ? 
Tell  me,  think  you,  John,  should  I  be  here  if  I  were  not 
willing  and  eager  to  —  to  keep  that  promise  ?  " 

"  Will  you  go  with  me  notwithstanding  your  father's 
hatred  of  my  house  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Ah,  truly  that  I  will,  John,"  she  answered;  "surely 
you  know  I  will  go  with  you." 

"  Let  us  go  at  once.  Let  us  lose  not  a  moment.  We 
have  already  delayed  too  long,"  cried  John  in  eager 
ecstasy. 

"  Not  to-night,  John  ;  I  cannot  go  to-night,"  she  pleaded. 
"  Think  of  my  attire,"  and  she  drew  my  cloak  more  closely 
about  her.  "  I  cannot  go  with  you  this  time.  My  father 
is  angry  with  me  because  of  you,  although  he  does  not 
know  who  you  are.  Is  it  not  famous  to  have  a  lover  in 
secret  of  whom  nobody  knows  ?  Father  is  angry  with  me, 
and  as  I  told  you  in  my  letter,  he  keeps  me  a  prisoner 
in  my  rooms.  Aunt  Dorothy  stands  guard  over  me.  The 
dear,  simple  old  soul !  She  told  me,  thinking  I  was  Mal 
colm,  that  she  was  too  old  to  be  duped  by  a  girl !  Oh,  it 
was  too  comical !  "  And  she  threw  back  her  head  and  gave 
forth  a  peal  of  laughter  that  John  was  reluctantly  com 
pelled  to  silence.  "  I  would  so  delight  to  tell  you  of  the 
scene  when  I  was  in  Aunt  Dorothy's  room  impersonating 
Malcolm;  but  I  have  so  much  else  to  say  of  more  importance 
that  I  know  I  shall  not  tell  the  half.  When  you  have  left 
me,  I  shall  remember  what  I  most  wished  to  say  but 
forgot." 

"  No,  John,"  she  continued  seriously,  "  my  father  has- 
been  cruel  to  me,  and  I  try  to  make  myself  think  I  do  not 
love  him;  but  I  fail,  for  I  do  love  him."  Tears  were  well 
ing  up  in  her  eyes  and  stifling  her  voice.  In  a  moment 


208  DOROTHY   VERNON 

she  continued  :  "  It  would  kill  him,  John,  were  I  to  go  with 
you  now.  I  will  go  with  you  soon,  —  I  give  you  my  sol 
emn  promise  to  that  —  but  I  cannot  go  now, —  not  now.  I 
cannot  leave  him  and  the  others.  With  all  his  cruelty  to 
me,  I  love  him,  John,  next  to  you.  He  will  not  come  to 
see  me  nor  will  he  speak  to  me.  Think  of  that."  The 
tears  that  had  welled  up  to  her  eyes  fell  in  a  piteous  stream 
over  her  cheeks.  "  Aunt  Dorothy  and  Madge,"  she  con 
tinued,  "  are  so  dear  to  me  that  the  thought  of  leaving 
them  is  torture.  But  I  will  go  with  you  some  day,  John, 
some  day  soon,  I  promise  you.  They  have  always  been 
kind  and  gentle  to  me,  and  I  love  them  and  my  father 
and  my  dear  home  where  I  was  born  and  where  my  sweet 
mother  died  —  and  Dolcy  —  I  love  them  all  so  dearly  that 
I  must  prepare  myself  to  leave  them,  John,  even  to  go  with 
you.  The  heart  strings  of  my  whole  life  bind  me  to  them. 
Forgive  me,  John,  forgive  me.  You  must  think  of  the 
grief  and  pain  I  shall  yet  pass  through  to  go  to  you.  It 
is  as  I  told  you :  we  women  reach  heaven  only  through 
purgatory.  I  must  forsake  all  else  I  love  when  I  go  to 
you.  All,  all !  All  that  has  been  dear  to  me  in  life  I 
must  forsake  for — for  that  which  is  dearer  to  me  than 
life  itself.  I  promise,  John,  to  go  with  you,  but  —  but 
forgive  me.  I  cannot  go  to-night." 

"  Nor  can  I  ask  it  of  you,  Dorothy,"  said  John.  "  The 
sacrifice  would  be  all  on  one  side.  I  should  forego  nothing, 
and  I  should  receive  all.  You  would  forego  everything, 
and  God  help  me,  you  would  receive  nothing  worth  hav 
ing.  I  am  unworthy  —  " 

"  Not  that  word,  John,"  cried  Dorothy,  again  covering 
his  mouth  with  —  well,  not  with  her  hand.  "I  shall  give 
up  a  great  deal,"  she  continued,  "and  I  know  I  shall  suffer. 
I  suffer  even  now  when  I  think  of  it,  for  you  must  re 
member  that  I  am  rooted  to  my  home  and  to  the  dear 
ones  it  shelters ;  but  I  will  soon  make  the  exchange, 


TRYST  AT    BOWLING    GREEN    GATE     209 

John ;  I  shall  make  it  gladly  when  the  time  comes, 
because  —  because  I  feel  that  I  could  not  live  if  I  did 
not  make  it." 

"  My  father  has  already  consented  to  our  marriage," 
said  John.  "I  told  him  to-day  all  that  had  passed  between 
you  and  me.  He,  of  course,  was  greatly  pained  at  first ; 
but  when  I  told  him  of  your  perfections,  he  said  that  if  you 
and  I  were  dear  to  each  other,  he  would  offer  no  opposition, 
but  would  welcome  you  to  his  heart." 

"Is  your  father  that — that  sort  of  a  man?"  asked 
Dorothy,  half  in  revery.  "I  have  always  heard—  "  and 
she  hesitated. 

"I  know,"  replied  John,  "that  you  have  heard  much 
evil  of  my  father,  but  —  let  us  not  talk  on  that  theme. 
You  will  know  him  some  day,  and  you  may  judge  him  for 
yourself.  When  will  you  go  with  me,  Dorothy?  " 

"Soon,  very  soon,  John,"  she  answered.  "You  know 
father  intends  that  I  shall  marry  Lord  Stanley.  / 
intend  otherwise.  The  more  father  hurries  this  mar 
riage  with  my  beautiful  cousin  the  sooner  I  shall  be  — 
be  your  —  that  is,  you  know,  the  sooner  I  shall  go  with 
you." 

"  You  will  not  allow  your  father  to  force  you  to 
marry  Lord  Stanley  ? "  asked  John,  frightened  by  the 
thought. 

"  Ah,"  cried  the  girl,  softly,  "  you  know  I  told  you  that 
God  had  put  into  me  a  great  plenty  of  will.  Father  calls 
it  wilfulness;  but  whichever  it  is,  it  stands  me  in  good  hand 
now.  You  don't  know  how  much  I  have  of  it !  You 
never  will  know  until  I  am  your  —  your  —  wife."  The 
last  word  was  spoken  in  a  soft,  hesitating  whisper,  and  her 
head  sought  shamefaced  refuge  on  John's  breast.  Of 
course  the  magic  word  "  wife  "  on  Dorothy's  lips  aroused 
John  to  action,  and  —  but  a  cloud  at  that  moment  passed 
over  the  moon  and  kindly  obscured  the  scene, 
p 


210  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  You  do  not  blame  me,  John,"  said  Dorothy,  "  because 
I  cannot  go  with  you  to-night  ?  You  do  not  blame 
me?" 

"Indeed  I  do  not,  my  goddess,"  answered  John.  "You 
will  soon  be  mine.  I  shall  await  your  pleasure  and  your  own 
time,  and  when  you  choose  to  come  to  me  —  ah,  then  —  " 
And  the  kindly  cloud  came  back  to  the  moon. 


CHAPTER   X 

THOMAS  THE  MAN-SERVANT 

AFTER  a  great  effort  of  self-denial  John  told  Dorothy 
it  was  time  for  her  to  return  to  the  Hall,  and  he 
walked  with  her  down  Bowling  Green  Hill  to  the 
wall  back  of  the  terrace  garden. 

Dorothy  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  stile  at  the  old 
stone  wall,  and  John,  clasping  her  hand,  said  :  — 

"  You  will  perhaps  see  me  sooner  than  you  expect,"  and 
then  the  cloud  considerately  floated  over  the  moon  again, 
and  John  hurried  away  up  Bowling  Green  Hill. 

Dorothy  crossed  the  terrace  garden,  going  toward  the 
door  since  known  as  "  Dorothy's  Postern."  She  had 
reached  the  top  of  the  postern  steps  when  she  heard  her 
father's  voice,  beyond  the  north  wall  of  the  terrace  garden 
well  up  toward  Bowling  Green  Hill.  John,  she  knew, 
was  at  that  moment  climbing  the  hill.  Immediately  follow 
ing  the  sound  of  her  father's  voice  she  heard  another  voice 
—  that  of  her  father's  retainer,  Sir  John  Guild.  Then  came 
the  word  "  Halt !  "  quickly  followed  by  the  report  of  a  fusil, 
and  the  sharp  clinking  of  swords  upon  the  hillside.  She 
ran  back  to  the  wall,  and  saw  the  dimly  outlined  forms  of  four 
men.  One  of  them  was  John,  who  was  retreating  up  the 
hill.  The  others  were  following  him.  Sir  George  and  Sir 
John  Guild  had  unexpectedly  returned  from  Derby. 
They  had  left  their  horses  with  the  stable  boys  and  were 
walking  toward  the  kitchen  door  when  Sir  George  noticed 


212  DOROTHY  VERNON 

a  man  pass  from  behind  the  corner  of  the  terrace  garden 
wall  and  proceed  up  Bowling  Green  Hill.  The  man  of 
course  was  John.  Immediately  Sir  George  and  Guild, 
accompanied  by  a  servant  who  was  with  them,  started  in 
pursuit  of  the  intruder,  and  a  moment  afterward  Dorothy 
heard  her  father's  voice  and  the  discharge  of  the  fusil. 
She  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  stile,  filled  with  an  agony  of 
fear.  Sir  George  was  fifteen  or  twenty  yards  in  advance 
of  his  companion,  and  when  John  saw  that  his  pursuers 
were  attacking  him  singly,  he  turned  and  quickly  ran  back 
to  meet  the  warlike  King  of  the  Peak.  By  a  few  adroit 
turns  with  his  sword  John  disarmed  his  antagonist,  and 
rushing  in  upon  him  easily  threw  him  to  the  ground  by  a 
wrestler's  trick.  Guild  and  the  servant  by  that  time  were 
within  six  yards  of  Sir  George  and  John. 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  Manners,  "  your  master  is  on  the  ground 
at  my  feet.  My  sword  point  is  at  his  heart.  Make  but 
one  step  toward  me  and  Sir  George  Vernon  will  be  a  dead 
man." 

Guild  and  the  servant  halted  instantly. 

"What  are  your  terms  ?"  cried  Guild,  speaking  with  the 
haste  which  he  well  knew  was  necessary  if  he  would  save 
his  master's  life. 

"  My  terms  are  easy,"  answered  John.  "  All  I  ask  is 
that  you  allow  me  to  depart  in  peace.  I  am  here  on  no 
harmful  errand,  and  I  demand  that  I  may  depart  and  that 
I  be  not  followed  nor  spied  upon  by  any  one." 

"  You  may  depart  in  peace,"  said  Guild.  "  No  one  will 
follow  you  ;  no  one  will  spy  upon  you.  To  this  I  pledge 
my  knightly  word  in  the  name  of  Christ  my  Saviour." 

John  at  once  took  his  way  unmolested  up  the  hill  and 
rode  home  with  his  heart  full  of  fear  lest  his  tryst  with 
Dorothy  had  been  discovered. 

Guild  and  the  servant  assisted  Sir  George  to  rise,  and  the 
three  started  down  the  hill  toward  the  stile  where  Dorothy 


THOMAS    THE    MAN-SERVANT     213 

was  standing.  She  was  hidden  from  them,  however,  by 
the  wall.  Jennie  Faxton,  who  had  been  on  guard  while 
John  and  Dorothy  were  at  the  gate,  at  Dorothy's  suggestion 
stood  on  top  of  the  stile  where  she  could  easily  be 
seen  by  Sir  George  when  he  approached. 

"  When  my  father  comes  here  and  questions  you,"  said 
Dorothy  to  Jennie  Faxton,  "tell  him  that  the  man  whom 
he  attacked  was  your  sweetheart." 

"  Never  fear,  mistress,"  responded  Jennie.  "I  will  have 
a  fine  story  for  the  master." 

Dorothy  crouched  inside  the  wall  under  the  shadow  of 
a  bush,  and  Jennie  waited  on  the  top  of  the  stile.  Sir 
George,  thinking  the  girl  was  Dorothy,  lost  no  time  in 
approaching  her.  He  caught  her  roughly  by  the  arm  and 
turned  her  around  that  he  might  see  her  face. 

"  By  God,  Guild,"  he  muttered,  "  I  have  made  a  mistake. 
I  thought  the  girl  was  Doll." 

He  left  instantly  and  followed  Guild  and  the  servant  to 
the  kitchen  door.  When  Sir  George  left  the  stile,  Dorothy 
hastened  back  to  the  postern  of  which  she  had  the  key, 
and  hurried  toward  her  room.  She  reached  the  door  of 
her  father's  room  just  in  time  to  see  Sir  George  and  Guild 
enter  it.  They  saw  her,  and  supposed  her  to  be  myself. 
If  she  hesitated,  she  was  lost.  But  Dorothy  never  hesi 
tated.  To  think,  with  her,  was  to  act.  She  did  not  of 
course  know  that  I  was  still  in  her  apartments.  She  took 
the  chance,  however,  and  boldly  followed  Sir  John  Guild 
into  her  father's  room.  There  she  paused  for  a  moment 
that  she  might  not  appear  to  be  in  too  great  haste,  and 
then  entered  Aunt  Dorothy's  room  where  I  was  seated, 
waiting  for  her. 

"  Dorothy,  my  dear  child,"  exclaimed  Lady  Crawford, 
clasping  her  arms  about  Dorothy's  neck. 

"  There  is  no  time  to  waste  in  sentiment,  Aunt  Dorothy," 
responded  the  girl.  "  Here  are  your  sword  and  cloak,  Mai- 


214  DOROTHY    VERNON 

colm.  I  thank  you  for  their  use.  Don  them  quickly."  I 
did  so,  and  walked  into  Sir  George's  room,  where  that 
worthy  old  gentleman  was  dressing  a  slight  wound  in  the 
hand.  I  stopped  to  speak  with  him ;  but  he  seemed  dis 
inclined  to  talk,  and  I  left  the  room.  He  soon  went  to  the 
upper  court,  and  I  presently  followed  him. 

Dorothy  changed  her  garments,  and  she,  Lady  Craw 
ford,  and  Madge  also  came  to  the  upper  court.  The 
braziers  in  the  courtyard  had  been  lighted  and  cast  a 
glare  over  two  score  half-clothed  men  and  women  who 
had  been  aroused  from  their  beds  by  the  commotion  of  the 
conflict  on  the  hillside.  Upon  the  upper  steps  of  the  court 
yard  stood  Sir  George  and  Jennie  Faxton. 

"  Who  was  the  man  you  were  with  ?  "  roughly  demanded 
Sir  George  of  the  trembling  Jennie.  Jennie's  trembling 
was  assumed  for  the  occasion. 

"  I  will  not  tell  you  his  name,"  she  replied  with  tears. 
""  He  is  my  sweetheart,  and  I  will  never  come  to  the 
Hall  again.  Matters  have  come  to  a  pretty  pass  when 
a  maiden  cannot  speak  with  her  sweetheart  at  the  stile 
without  he  is  set  upon  and  beaten  as  if  he  were  a  hedge 
hog.  My  father  is  your  leal  henchman,  and  his  daugh 
ter  deserves  better  treatment  at  your  hands  than  you 
have  given  me." 

"  There,  there  !  "  said  Sir  George,  placing  his  hand  upon 
her  head.  "  I  was  in  the  wrong.  I  did  not  know  you 
had  a  sweetheart  who  wore  a  sword.  When  I  saw  you 
at  the  stile,  I  was  sure  you  were  another.  I  am  glad  I  was 
wrong."  So  was  Dorothy  glad. 

"  Everybody  be  off  to  bed,"  said  Sir  George.  "  Ben 
Shaw,  see  that  the  braziers  are  all  blackened." 

Dorothy,  Madge,  and  Lady  Crawford  returned  to  the 
latter's  room,  and  Sir  George  and  I  entered  after  them. 
He  was  evidently  softened  in  heart  by  the  night's  adven 
tures  and  by  the  mistake  he  supposed  he  had  made. 


THOMAS   THE    MAN-SERVANT      215 

A  selfish  man  grows  hard  toward  those  whom  he  injures. 
A  generous  heart  grows  tender.  Sir  George  was  generous, 
and  the  injustice  he  thought  he  had  done  to  Dorothy  made 
him  eager  to  offer  amends.  The  active  evil  in  all  Sir 
George's  wrong-doing  was  the  fact  that  he  conscientiously 
thought  he  was  in  the  right.  Many  a  man  has  gone  to  hell 
backward  —  with  his  face  honestly  toward  heaven.  Sir 
George  had  not  spoken  to  Dorothy  since  the  scene  wherein 
the  key  to  Bowling  Green  Gate  played  so  important  a  part. 

"  Doll,"  said  Sir  George,  "  I  thought  you  were  at  the 
stile  with  a  man.  I  was  mistaken.  It  was  the  Faxton 
girl.  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  daughter.  I  did  you  wrong." 

"You  do  me  wrong  in  many  matters,  father,"  replied 
Dorothy. 

"  Perhaps  I  do,"  her  father  returned,  "  perhaps  I  do,  but 
I  mean  for  the  best.  I  seek  your  happiness." 

"You  take  strange  measures  at  times,  father,  to  bring 
about  my  happiness,"  she  replied. 

"  Whom  God  loveth  He  chasteneth,"  replied  Sir  George, 
dolefully. 

"  That  manner  of  loving  may  be  well  enough  for  God," 
retorted  Dorothy  with  no  thought  of  irreverence,  "  but  for 
man  it  is  dangerous.  Whom  man  loves  he  should  cherish. 
A  man  who  has  a  good,  obedient  daughter  —  one  who  loves 
him  —  will  not  imprison  her,  and,  above  all,  he  will  not 
refuse  to  speak  to  her,  nor  will  he  cause  her  to  suffer  and 
to  weep  for  lack  of  that  love  which  is  her  right.  A  man 
has  no  right  to  bring  a  girl  into  this  world  and  then  cause 
her  to  suffer  as  you  —  as  you  —  " 

She  ceased  speaking  and  sought  refuge  in  silent  femi 
nine  eloquence  —  tears.  One  would  have  sworn  she  had 
been  grievously  injured  that  night. 

"  But  I  am  older  than  you,  Doll,  and  I  know  what  is 
best  for  your  happiness,"  said  Sir  George. 

"  There  are  some  things,  father,  which  a  girl  knows  with 


2i6  DOROTHY   VERNON 

better,  surer  knowledge  than  the  oldest  man  living.  Solo 
mon  was  wise  because  he  had  so  many  wives  from  whom 
he  could  absorb  wisdom." 

"  Ah,  well !  "  answered  Sir  George,  smiling  in  spite  of 
himself,  "you  will  have  the  last  word." 

"Confess,  father,"  she  retorted  quickly,  "that  you  want 
the  last  word  yourself." 

"  Perhaps  I  do  want  it,  but  I'll  never  have  it,"  returned 
Sir  George  ;  "  kiss  me,  Doll,  and  be  my  child  again." 

"That  I  will  right  gladly,"  she  answered,  throwing  her 
arms  about  her  father's  neck  and  kissing  him  with  real 
affection.  Then  Sir  George  said  good  night  and  started 
to  leave.  At  the  door  he  stopped,  and  stood  for  a  little 
time  in  thought. 

"Dorothy,"  said  he,  speaking  to  Lady  Crawford,  "I 
relieve  you  of  your  duty  as  a  guard  over  Doll.  She  may 
go  and  come  when  she  chooses." 

"  I  thank  you,  George,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy.  "  The  task 
has  been  painful  to  me." 

Dorothy  went  to  her  father  and  kissed  him  again,  and 
Sir  George  departed. 

When  the  door  was  closed,  Lady  Crawford  breathed  a 
great  sigh  and  said :  "  I  thank  Heaven,  Dorothy,  he  does 
not  know  that  you  have  been  out  of  your  room.  How 
could  you  treat  me  so  cruelly  ?  How  could  you  deceive 
me  ?  " 

"  That,  Aunt  Dorothy,"  replied  the  niece,  "  is  because 
you  are  not  old  enough  yet  to  be  a  match  for  a  girl  who  is 
—  who  is  in  love." 

"  Shame  upon  you,  Dorothy ! "  said  Lady  Crawford. 
"  Shame  upon  you,  to  act  as  you  did,  and  now  to  speak  so 
plainly  about  being  in  love !  Malcolm  said  you  were  not 
a  modest  girl,  and  I  am  beginning  to  believe  him." 

"  Did  Malcolm  speak  so  ill  of  me  ?  "  asked  Dorothy, 
turning  toward  me  with  a  smile  in  her  eyes. 


THOMAS    THE    MAN-SERVANT     217 

"  My  lady  aunt,"  said  I,  turning  to  Lady  Crawford, 
"when  did  I  say  that  Dorothy  was  an  immodest  girl?" 

"  You  did  not  say  it,"  the  old  lady  admitted.  "  Dorothy 
herself  said  it,  and  she  proves  her  words  to  be  true  by 
speaking  so  boldly  of  her  feelings  toward  this  —  this 
strange  man.  And  she  speaks  before  Madge,  too." 

"  Perhaps  Madge  is  in  the  same  sort  of  trouble.  Who 
knows  ?  "  cried  Dorothy,  laughing  heartily.  Madge  blushed 
painfully.  "  But,"  continued  Dorothy,  seriously,  "  I  am 
not  ashamed  of  it ;  I  am  proud  of  it.  For  what  else,  my 
dear  aunt,  was  I  created  but  to  be  in  love  ?  Tell  me,  dear 
aunt,  for  what  else  was  I  created  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  returned  the  old  lady,  who  in 
fact  was  sentimentally  inclined. 

"  The  chief  end  of  woman,  after  all,  is  to  love,"  said 
Dorothy.  "  What  would  become  of  the  human  race  if  it 
were  not  ? " 

"  Child,  child,"  cried  the  aunt,  "  where  learned  you  such 
things  ? " 

"  They  were  written  upon  my  mother's  breast,"  contin 
ued  Dorothy,  "  and  I  learned  them  when  I  took  in  my  life 
with  her  milk.  I  pray  they  may  be  written  upon  my 
breast  some  day,  if  God  in  His  goodness  shall  ever  bless 
me  with  a  baby  girl.  A  man  child  could  not  read  the 
words." 

"  Dorothy,  Dorothy  !  "  cried  Lady  Crawford,  "you  shock 
me.  You  pain  me." 

"Again  I  ask,"  responded  Dorothy,  "for  what  else  was 
I  created  ?  I  tell  you,  Aunt  Dorothy,  the  world  decrees 
that  women  shall  remain  in  ignorance,  or  in  pretended 
ignorance  —  in  silence  at  least  —  regarding  the  things  con 
cerning  which  they  have  the  greatest  need  to  be  wise  and 
talkative." 

"  At  your  age,  Dorothy,  I  did  not  have  half  your  wisdom 
on  the  subject,"  answered  Lady  Crawford. 


218  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"Tell  me,  my  sweet  Aunt  Dorothy,  were  you  really 
in  a  state  of  ignorance  such  as  you  would  have  me 
believe  ? " 

"  Well,"  responded  the  old  lady,  hesitatingly,  "  I  did  not 
speak  of  such  matters." 

"Why,  aunt,  did  you  not?"  asked  Dorothy.  "Were 
you  ashamed  of  what  God  had  done  ?  Were  you  ashamed 
of  His  great  purpose  in  creating  you  a  woman,  and  in  cre 
ating  your  mother  and  your  mother's  mother  before  you  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  child  ;  no,  no.  But  I  cannot  argue  with  you. 
Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  Aunt  Dorothy. 

"  Then  tell  me,  dear  aunt,  that  I  am  not  immodest  and 
bold  when  I  speak  concerning  that  of  which  my  heart  is 
full  to  overflowing.  God  put  it  there,  aunt,  not  I.  Surely 
I  am  not  immodest  by  reason  of  His  act." 

"  No,  no,  my  sweet  child,"  returned  Aunt  Dorothy,  be 
ginning  to  weep  softly.  "  No,  no,  you  are  not  immodest. 
You  are  worth  a  thousand  weak  fools  such  as  I  was  at 
your  age." 

Poor  Aunt  Dorothy  had  been  forced  into  a  marriage 
which  had  wrecked  her  life.  Dorothy's  words  opened  her 
aunt's  eyes  to  the  fact  that  the  girl  whom  she  so  dearly 
loved  was  being  thrust  by  Sir  George  into  the  same 
wretched  fate  through  which  she  had  dragged  her  own 
suffering  heart  for  so  many  years.  From  that  hour  she 
was  Dorothy's  ally. 

"  Good  night,  Malcolm,"  said  Lady  Crawford,  offering 
me  her  hand.  I  kissed  it  tenderly  ;  then  I  kissed  the  sweet 
old  lady's  cheek  and  said  :  — 

"  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart,  Aunt  Dorothy." 

"  I  thank  you,  Malcolm,"  she  returned. 

I  took  my  leave,  and  soon  Madge  went  to  her  room, 
leaving  Dorothy  and  Lady  Crawford  together. 

When  Madge  had  gone  the  two  Dorothys,  one  at  each 
end  of  life,  spanned  the  long  years  that  separated  them, 


THOMAS    THE    MAN-SERVANT     219 

and  became  one  in  heart  by  reason  of  a  heartache  common 
to  both. 

Lady  Crawford  seated  herself  and  Dorothy  knelt  by  her 
chair. 

"Tell  me,  Dorothy,"  said  the  old  lady,  "tell  me,  do  you 
love  this  man  so  tenderly,  so  passionately  that  you  cannot 
give  him  up  ?  " 

"Ah,  my  dear  aunt,"  the  girl  responded,  "words  cannot 
tell.  You  cannot  know  what  I  feel." 

"  Alas  !  I  know  only  too  well,  my  child.  I,  too,  loved  a 
man  when  I  was  your  age,  and  none  but  God  knows  what 
I  suffered  when  I  was  forced  by  my  parents  and  the  priests 
to  give  him  up,  and  to  wed  one  whom  —  God  help  me  —  I 
loathed." 

"  Oh,  my  sweet  aunt !  "  cried  Dorothy  softly,  throwing 
her  arms  about  the  old  lady's  neck  and  kissing  her  cheek. 
"  How  terribly  you  must  have  suffered !  " 

"Yes,"  responded  Lady  Crawford,  "and  I  am  resolved 
you  shall  not  endure  the  same  fate.  I  hope  the  man  who 
has  won  your  love  is  worthy  of  you.  Do  not  tell  me  his 
name,  for  I  do  not  wish  to  practise  greater  deception  toward 
your  father  than  I  must.  But  you  may  tell  me  of  his  sta 
tion  in  life,  and  of  his  person,  that  I  may  know  he  is  not 
unworthy  of  you." 

"  His  station  in  life,"  answered  Dorothy,  "  is  far  better 
than  mine.  In  person  he  is  handsome  beyond  any  woman's 
wildest  dream  of  manly  beauty.  In  character  he  is  noble, 
generous,  and  good.  He  is  far  beyond  my  deserts,  Aunt 
Dorothy." 

"  Then  why  does  he  not  seek  your  hand  from  your 
father  ?  "  asked  the  aunt. 

"  That  I  may  not  tell  you,  Aunt  Dorothy,"  returned  the 
girl,  "unless  you  would  have  me  tell  you  his  name,  and 
that  I  dare  not  do.  Although  he  is  vastly  my  superior  in 
station,  in  blood,  and  in  character,  still  my  father  would 


220  DOROTHY    VERNON 

kill  me  before  he  would  permit  me  to  marry  this  man  of 
my  choice ;  and  I,  dear  aunt,  fear  I  shall  die  if  I  have  him 
not." 

Light  slowly  dawned  upon  Aunt  Dorothy's  mind,  and 
she  exclaimed  in  a  terrified  whisper :  — 

"  My  God,  child,  is  it  he  ?  " 

"Yes,"  responded  the  girl,  "yes,  it  is  he." 

"  Do  not  speak  his  name,  Dorothy,"  the  old  lady  said. 
"  Do  not  speak  his  name.  So  long  as  you  do  not  tell  me, 
I  cannot  know  with  certainty  who  he  is."  After  a  pause 
Aunt  Dorothy  continued,  "  Perhaps,  child,  it  was  his 
father  whom  I  loved  and  was  compelled  to  give  up." 

"  May  the  blessed  Virgin  pity  us,  sweet  aunt,"  cried 
Dorothy,  caressingly. 

"  And  help  us,"  returned  Lady  Crawford.  "  I,  too, 
shall  help  you,"  she  continued.  "  It  will  be  through  no 
fault  of  mine  if  your  life  is  wasted  as  mine  has  been." 

Dorothy  kissed  her  aunt  and  retired. 

Next  morning  when  Dorothy  arose  a  song  came  from 
her  heart  as  it  comes  from  the  skylark  when  it  sees 
the  sun  at  dawn — because  it  cannot  help  singing.  It 
awakened  Aunt  Dorothy,  and  she  began  to  live  her 
life  anew,  in  brightness,  as  she  steeped  her  soul  in  the 
youth  and  joyousness  of  Dorothy  Vernon's  song. 

I  have  spoken  before  in  this  chronicle  of  Will  Dawson. 
He  was  a  Conformer.  Possibly  it  was  by  reason  of  his  re 
ligious  faith  that  he  did  not  share  the  general  enmity  that 
existed  in  Haddon  Hall  against  the  house  of  Rutland.  He 
did  not,  at  the  time  of  which  I  speak,  know  Sir  John  Man 
ners,  and  he  did  not  suspect  that  the  heir  to  Rutland  was 
the  man  who  had  of  late  been  causing  so  much  trouble  to 
the  house  of  Vernon.  At  least,  if  he  did  suspect  it,  no 
one  knew  of  his  suspicions. 

Sir  George  made  a  great  effort  to  learn  who  the  mysteri 
ous  interloper  was,  but  he  wholly  failed  to  obtain  any  clew 


THOMAS    THE    MAN-SERVANT     221 

to  his  identity.  He  had  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that 
Dorothy's  mysterious  lover  was  a  man  of  low  degree. 
He  had  taken  for  granted  that  he  was  an  adventurer 
whose  station  and  person  precluded  him  from  openly 
wooing  his  daughter.  He  did  not  know  that  the  heir  to 
Rutland  was  in  the  Derbyshire  country;  for  John,  after 
his  first  meeting  with  Dorothy,  had  carefully  concealed  his 
presence  from  everybody  save  the  inmates  of  Rutland.  In 
fact,  his  mission  to  Rutland  required  secrecy,  and  the  Rut 
land  servants  and  retainers  were  given  to  understand  as 
much.  Even  had  Sir  George  known  of  John's  presence 
at  Rutland,  the  old  gentleman's  mind  could  not  have  com 
passed  the  thought  that  Dorothy,  who,  he  believed,  hated 
the  race  of  Manners  with  an  intensity  equalled  only  by  his 
own  feelings,  could  be  induced  to  exchange  a  word  with  a 
member  of  the  house.  His  uncertainty  was  not  the  least 
of  his  troubles ;  and  although  Dorothy  had  full  liberty 
to  come  and  go  at  will,  her  father  kept  constant  watch  over 
her.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Sir  George  had  given  Dorothy 
liberty  partly  for  the  purpose  of  watching  her,  and  he 
hoped  to  discover  thereby  and,  if  possible,  to  capture  the 
man  who  had  brought  trouble  to  his  household.  Sir  George 
had  once  hanged  a  man  to  a  tree  on  Bowling  Green  Hil: 
by  no  other  authority  than  his  own  desire.  That  execution 
was  the  last  in  England  under  the  old  Saxon  law  o! 
Infangthef  and  Outfangthef.  Sir  George  had  been  sum 
moned  before  Parliament  for  the  deed ;  but  the  writ  had 
issued  against  the  King  of  the  Peak,  and  that  being  only  a 
sobriquet,  was  neither  Sir  George's  name  nor  his  title.  So 
the  writ  was  quashed,  and  the  high-handed  act  of  persona?, 
justice  was  not  farther  investigated  by  the  authorities, 
Should  my  cousin  capture  his  daughter's  lover,  there  would 
certainly  be  another  execution  under  the  old  Saxon  law. 
So  you  see  that  my  friend  Manners  was  tickling  death 
with  a  straw  for  Dorothy's  sake. 


222  DOROTHY    VERNON 

One  day  Dawson  approached  Sir  George  and  told  him 
that  a  man  sought  employment  in  the  household  of  Haddon 
Hall.  Sir  George  placed  great  confidence  in  his  forester; 
so  he  told  Dawson  to  employ  the  man  if  his  services  were 
needed.  The  new  servant  proved  to  be  a  fine,  strong  fel 
low,  having  a  great  shock  of  carrot-colored  hair  and  a 
bushy  beard  of  rusty  red. 

Dawson  engaged  the  newcomer,  and  assigned  to  him 
the  duty  of  kindling  the  fires  in  the  family  apartments 
of  the  Hall.  The  name  of  the  new  servant  was  Thomas 
Thompson,  a  name  that  Dorothy  soon  abbreviated  to  Tom- 
Tom. 

One  day  she  said  to  him,  by  way  of  opening  the 
acquaintance,  "Thomas,  you  and  I  should  be  good 
friends ;  we  have  so  much  in  common." 

"  Thank  you,  my  lady,"  responded  Thomas,  greatly 
pleased.  "  I  hope  we  shall  be  good  friends ;  indeed, 
indeed  I  do,  but  I  cannot  tell  wherein  I  am  so  fortunate 
as  to  have  anything  in  common  with  your  Ladyship.  What 
is  it,  may  I  ask,  of  which  we  have  so  much  in  common  ? " 

"  So  much  hair,"  responded  Dorothy,  laughing. 

"  It  were  blasphemy,  lady,  to  compare  my  hair  with 
yours,"  returned  Thomas.  "Your  hair,  I  make  sure,  is 
such  as  the  blessed  Virgin  had.  I  ask  your  pardon  for 
speaking  so  plainly;  but  your  words  put  the  thought 
into  my  mind,  and  perhaps  they  gave  me  license  to 
speak." 

Thomas  was  on  his  knees,  placing  wood  upon  the  fire. 

"  Thomas,"  returned  Dorothy,  "  you  need  never  apolo 
gize  to  a  lady  for  making  so  fine  a  speech.  I  declare  a 
courtier  could  not  have  made  a  better  one." 

"  Perhaps  I  have  lived  among  courtiers,  lady,"  said 
Thomas. 

"  I  doubt  not,"  replied  Dorothy,  derisively.  "  You  would 
have  me  believe  you  are  above  your  station.  It  is  the  way 


THOMAS    THE    MAN-SERVANT     223 

with  all  new  servants.  I  suppose  you  have  seen  fine  com 
pany  and  better  days." 

"  I  have  never  seen  finer  company  than  now,  and  I  have 
never  known  better  days  than  this,"  responded  courtier 
Thomas.  Dorothy  thought  he  was  presuming  on  her 
condescension,  and  was  about  to  tell  him  so  when  he  con 
tinued  :  "  The  servants  at  Haddon  Hall  are  gentlefolk 
compared  with  servants  at  other  places  where  I  have 
worked,  and  I  desire  nothing  more  than  to  find  favor  in 
Sir  George's  eyes.  I  would  do  anything  to  achieve  that 
end." 

Dorothy  was  not  entirely  reassured  by  Thomas's  closing 
words ;  but  even  if  they  were  presumptuous,  she  admired 
his  wit  in  giving  them  an  inoffensive  turn.  From  that 
day  forth  the  acquaintance  grew  between  the  servant  and 
mistress  until  it  reached  the  point  of  familiarity  at  which 
Dorothy  dubbed  him  Tom-Tom. 

Frequently  Dorothy  was  startled  by  remarks  made  by 
Thomas,  having  in  them  a  strong  dash  of  familiarity ;  but  he 
always  gave  to  his  words  a  harmless  turn  before  she  could 
resent  them.  At  times,  however,  she  was  not  quite  sure 
of  his  intention. 

Within  a  week  after  Thomas's  advent  to  the  hall,  Dorothy 
began  to  suspect  that  the  new  servant  looked  upon  her 
with  eyes  of  great  favor.  She  frequently  caught  him 
watching  her,  and  at  such  times  his  eyes,  which  Dorothy 
thought  were  really  very  fine,  would  glow  with  an  ardor 
all  too  evident.  His  manner  was  cause  for  amusement 
rather  than  concern,  and  since  she  felt  kindly  toward  the 
new  servant,  she  thought  to  create  a  faithful  ally  by 
treating  him  graciously.  She  might,  she  thought,  need 
Thomas's  help  when  the  time  should  come  for  her  to 
leave  Haddon  Hall  with  John,  if  that  happy  time  should 
ever  come.  She  did  not  realize  that  the  most  dangerous, 
watchful  enemy  to  her  cherished  scheme  would  be  a 


224  DOROTHY    VERNON 

man  who  was  himself  in  love  with  her,  even  though  he 
were  a  servant,  and  she  looked  on  Thomas's  evident 
infatuation  with  a  smile.  She  did  not  once  think  that  in 
the  end  it  might  cause  her  great  trouble,  so  she  accepted 
his  mute  admiration,  and  thought  to  make  use  of  it  later 
on.  To  Tom,  therefore,  Dorothy  was  gracious. 

John  had  sent  word  to  Dorothy,  by  Jennie  Faxton,  that 
he  had  gone  to  London,  and  would  be  there  for  a  fortnight 
or  more. 

Sir  George  had  given  permission  to  his  daughter  to  ride 
out  whenever  she  wished  to  do  so,  but  he  had  ordered  that 
Dawson  or  I  should  follow  in  the  capacity  of  spy,  and 
Dorothy  knew  of  the  censorship,  though  she  pretended 
ignorance  of  it.  So  long  as  John  was  in  London  she  did  not 
care  who  followed  her;  but  I  well  knew  that  when  Manners 
should  return,  Dorothy  would  again  begin  manoeuvring, 
and  that  by  some  cunning  trick  she  would  see  him. 

One  afternoon  I  was  temporarily  absent  from  the  Hall 
and  Dorothy  wished  to  ride.  Dawson  was  engaged,  and 
when  Dorothy  had  departed,  he  ordered  Tom  to  ride  after 
his  mistress  at  a  respectful  distance.  Nearly  a  fortnight  had 
passed  since  John  had  gone  to  London,  and  when  Dorothy 
rode  forth  that  afternoon  she  was  beginning  to  hope  he 
might  have  returned,  and  that  by  some  delightful  possi 
bility  he  might  then  be  loitering  about  the  old  trysting- 
place  at  Bowling  Green  Gate.  There  was  a  half-unconscious 
conviction  in  her  heart  that  he  would  be  there.  She  deter 
mined,  therefore,  to  ride  toward  Rowsley,  to  cross  the 
Wye  at  her  former  fording-place,  and  to  go  up  to  Bowling 
Green  Gate  on  the  Devonshire  side  of  the  H addon  wall. 
She  had  no  reason,  other  than  the  feeling  born  of  her 
wishes,  to  believe  that  John  would  be  there  ;  but  she 
loved  the  spot  for  the  sake  of  the  memories  which  hovered 
about  it.  She  well  knew  that  some  one  would  follow 
her  from  the  Hall ;  but  she  felt  sure  that  in  case  the  spy 


THOMAS    THE    MAN-SERVANT     225 

proved  to  be  Dawson  or  myself,  she  could  easily  arrange 
matters  to  her  satisfaction,  if  by  good  fortune  she  should 
find  her  lover  at  the  gate. 

Tom  rode  so  far  behind  his  mistress  that  she  could  not 
determine  who  was  following  her.  Whenever  she  brought 
Dolcy  to  a  walk,  Tom-Tom  also  walked  his  horse.  When 
Dorothy  galloped,  he  galloped ;  but  after  Dorothy  had 
crossed  the  Wye  and  had  taken  the  wall  over  into  the 
Devonshire  lands,  Tom  also  crossed  the  river  and  wall 
and  quickly  rode  to  her  side.  He  uncovered  and  bowed 
low  with  a  familiarity  of  manner  that  startled  her.  The 
act  of  riding  up  to  her  and  the  manner  in  which  he  took 
his  place  by  her  side  were  presumptuous  to  the  point  of 
insolence,  and  his  attitude,  although  not  openly  offensive, 
was  slightly  alarming.  She  put  Dolcy  to  a  gallop  ;  but 
the  servant  who,  she  thought,  was  presuming  on  her  for 
mer  graciousness,  kept  close  at  Dolcy's  heels.  The  man 
was  a  stranger,  and  she  knew  nothing  of  his  character. 
She  was  alone  in  the  forest  with  him,  and  she  did  not 
know  to  what  length  his  absurd  passion  for  her  might 
lead  him.  She  was  alarmed,  but  she  despised  cowardice, 
although  she  knew  herself  to  be  a  coward,  and  she  deter 
mined  to  ride  to  the  gate,  which  was  but  a  short  distance 
ahead  of  her.  She  resolved  that  if  the  insolent  fellow 
continued  his  familiarity,  she  would  teach  him  a  lesson  he 
would  never  forget.  When  she  was  within  a  short  dis 
tance  of  the  gate  she  sprang  from  Dolcy  and  handed  her 
rein  to  her  servant.  John  was  not  there,  but  she  went  to 
the  gate  in  the  hope  that  a  letter  might  be  hidden  beneath 
the  stone  bench  where  Jennie  was  wont  to  find  them  in 
times  past.  Dorothy  found  no  letter,  but  she  could  not 
resist  the  temptation  to  sit  down  upon  the  bench  where  he 
and  she  had  sat,  and  to  dream  over  the  happy  moments 
she  had  spent  there.  Tom,  instead  of  holding  the  horses, 
hitched  them,  and  walked  toward  Dorothy.  That  act  on 
Q 


226  DOROTHY    VERNON 

the  part  of  her  servant  was  effrontery  of  the  most  insolent 
sort.  Will  Dawson  himself  would  not  have  dared  do  such 
a  thing.  It  filled  her  with  alarm,  and  as  Tom  approached 
she  was  trying  to  determine  in  what  manner  she  would 
crush  him.  But  when  the  audacious  Thomas,  having 
reached  the  gate,  seated  himself  beside  his  mistress  on  the 
stone  bench,  the  girl  sprang  to  her  feet  in  fright  and 
indignation.  She  began  to  realize  the  extent  of  her  fool- 
hardiness  in  going  to  that  secluded  spot  with  a  stranger. 

"  How  dare  you  approach  me  in  this  insolent  fashion  ?  " 
cried  Dorothy,  breathless  with  fear. 

"  Mistress  Vernon,"  responded  Thomas,  looking  boldly 
up  into  her  pale  face,  "  I  wager  you  a  gold  pound  sterling 
that  if  you  permit  me  to  remain  here  by  your  side  ten 
minutes  you  will  be  unwilling  —  " 

"  John,  John  !  "  cried  the  girl,  exultantly.  Tom  snatched 
the  red  beard  from  his  face,  and  Dorothy,  after  one  fleet 
ing,  luminous  look  into  his  eyes,  fell  upon  her  knees  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  She  wept,  and  John,  bending 
over  the  kneeling  girl,  kissed  her  sunlit  hair. 

"Cruel,  cruel,"  sobbed  Dorothy.  Then  she  lifted  her 
head  and  clasped  her  hands  about  his  neck.  "  Is  it  not 
strange,"  she  continued,  "  that  I  should  have  felt  so  sure 
of  seeing  you  ?  My  reason  kept  telling  me  that  my  hopes 
were  absurd,  but  a  stronger  feeling  full  of  the  breath  of 
certainty  seemed  to  assure  me  that  you  would  be  here.  It 
impelled  me  to  come,  though  I  feared  you  after  we  crossed 
the  wall.  But  reason,  fear,  and  caution  were  powerless  to 
keep  me  away." 

"  You  did  not  know  my  voice,"  said  John,  "  nor  did  you 
penetrate  my  disguise.  You  once  said  that  you  would  rec 
ognize  me  though  I  wore  all  the  petticoats  in  Derbyshire." 

"  Please  don't  jest  with  me  now,"  pleaded  Dorothy.  "  I 
cannot  bear  it.  Great  joy  is  harder  to  endure  than  great 
grief.  Why  did  you  not  reveal  yourself  to  me  at  the 
Hall  ?  "  she  asked  plaintively. 


THOMAS    THE    MAN-SERVANT     227 

"  I  found  no  opportunity,"  returned  John,  "  others  were 
always  present." 

I  shall  tell  you  nothing  that  followed.  It  is  no  affair  of 
yours  nor  of  mine. 

They  were  overjoyed  in  being  together  once  more. 
Neither  of  them  seemed  to  realize  that  John,  while  living 
under  Sir  George's  roof,  was  facing  death  every  moment. 
To  Dorothy,  the  fact  that  John,  who  was  heir  to  one  of 
England's  noblest  houses,  was  willing  for  her  sake  to  be 
come  a  servant,  to  do  a  servant's  work,  and  to  receive  the 
indignities  constantly  put  upon  a  servant,  appealed  most 
powerfully.  It  added  to  her  feeling  for  him  a  tenderness 
which  is  not  necessarily  a  part  of  passionate  love. 

It  is  needless  for  me  to  tell  you  that  while  John  per 
formed  faithfully  the  duty  of  keeping  bright  the  fires  in 
Haddon  Hall,  he  did  not  neglect  the  other  flame  —  the  one 
in  Dorothy's  heart — for  the  sake  of  whose  warmth  he  had 
assumed  the  leathern  garb  of  servitude  and  had  placed  his 
head  in  the  lion's  mouth. 

At  first  he  and  Dorothy  used  great  caution  in  exchang 
ing  words  and  glances,  but  familiarity  with  danger  breeds 
contempt  for  it.  So  they  utilized  every  opportunity  that 
niggard  chance  offered,  and  blinded  by  their  great  longing 
soon  began  to  make  opportunities  for  speech  with  each 
other,  thereby  bringing  trouble  to  Dorothy  and  deadly 
peril  to  John.  Of  that  I  shall  soon  tell  you. 

During  the  period  of  John's  service  in  Haddon  Hall 
negotiations  for  Dorothy's  marriage  with  Lord  Stanley 
were  progressing  slowly  but  surely.  Arrangements  for 
the  marriage  settlement  by  the  Stanleys,  and  for  Dorothy's 
dower  to  be  given  by  Sir  George,  were  matters  that  the 
King  of  the  Peak  approached  boldly  as  he  would  have 
met  any  other  affair  of  business.  But  the  Earl  of  Derby, 
whose  mind  moved  slowly,  desiring  that  a  generous  portion 
of  the  Vernon  wealth  should  be  transferred  with  Dorothy 


228  DOROTHY    VERNON 

to  the  Stanley  holdings  without  the  delay  incident  to 
Sir  George's  death,  put  off  signing  the  articles  of  marriage 
in  his  effort  to  augment  the  cash  payment.  In  truth,  the 
great  wealth  which  Dorothy  would  bring  to  the  house  of 
Stanley  was  the  earl's  real  reason  for  desiring  her  marriage 
with  his  son.  The  earl  was  heavily  in  debt,  and  his  estate 
stood  in  dire  need  of  help. 

Sir  George,  though  attracted  by  the  high  nobility  of  the 
house  of  Stanley,  did  not  relish  the  thought  that  the  wealth 
he  had  accumulated  by  his  own  efforts,  and  the  Vernon 
estates  which  had  come  down  to  him  through  centuries, 
should  go  to  pay  Lord  Derby's  debts.  He  therefore  in 
sisted  that  Dorothy's  dower  should  be  her  separate  estate, 
and  demanded  that  it  should  remain  untouched  and  un 
touchable  by  either  of  the  Stanleys.  That  arrangement 
did  not  suit  my  lord  earl,  and  although  the  son  since  he 
had  seen  Dorothy  at  Derby-town  was  eager  to  possess  the 
beautiful  girl,  his  father  did  not  share  his  ardor.  Lawyers 
were  called  in  who  looked  expensively  wise,  but  they  accom 
plished  the  purpose  for  which  they  were  employed.  An 
agreement  of  marriage  was  made  and  was  drawn  up  on  an 
imposing  piece  of  parchment,  brave  with  ribbons,  pompous 
with  seals,  and  fair  in  clerkly  penmanship. 

One  day  Sir  George  showed  me  the  copy  of  the  contract 
which  had  been  prepared  for  him.  That  evening  at  the 
cost  of  much  labor  he  and  I  went  over  the  indenture  word 
for  word,  and  when  we  had  finished  Sir  George  thought  it 
was  very  good  indeed.  He  seemed  to  think  that  all  diffi 
culties  in  the  way  of  the  marriage  were  overcome  when  the 
agreement  that  lay  before  us  on  the  table  had  been  achieved 
between  him  and  the  earl.  I  knew  Sir  George's  troubles 
had  only  begun  ;  for  I  was  aware  of  a  fact  which  it  seemed 
impossible  for  him  to  learn,  though  of  late  Dorothy  had 
given  him  much  teaching  thereto.  I  knew  that  he  had 
transmitted  to  his  daughter  a  large  portion  of  his  own 


THOMAS    THE    MAN-SERVANT     229 

fierce,  stubborn,  unbreakable  will,  and  that  in  her  it  existed 
in  its  most  deadly  form  —  the  feminine.  To  me  after 
supper  that  night  was  assigned  the  task  of  reading  and 
rereading  many  times  to  Sir  George  the  contents  of  the 
beautiful  parchment.  When  I  would  read  a  clause  that 
particularly  pleased  my  cousin,  he  insisted  on  celebrating 
the  event  by  drinking  a  mug  of  liquor  drawn  from  a  huge 
leather  stoup  which  sat  upon  the  table  between  us.  By 
the  time  I  had  made  several  readings  of  the  interesting 
document  the  characters  began  to  mingle  in  a  way  that 
did  not  impart  ease  and  clearness  to  my  style.  Some  of 
the  strange  combinations  which  I  and  the  liquor  extracted 
from  amid  the  seals  and  ribbons  puzzled  Sir  George  not  a 
little.  But  with  each  new  libation  he  found  new  clauses 
and  fresh  causes  for  self-congratulation,  though  to  speak 
exact  truth  I  more  than  once  married  Sir  George  to  the 
Earl  of  Derby,  and  in  my  profanity  gave  Lord  James 
Stanley  to  the  devil  to  have  and  to  hold. 

Sir  George  was  rapidly  falling  before  his  mighty  enemy, 
drink,  and  I  was  not  far  behind  him,  though  I  admit  the 
fault  with  shame.  My  cousin  for  a  while  was  mightily 
pleased  with  the  contract ;  but  when  the  liquor  had  brought 
him  to  a  point  where  he  was  entirely  candid  with  himself, 
he  let  slip  the  fact  that  after  all  there  was  regret  at  the 
bottom  of  the  goblet,  metaphorically  and  actually.  Before 
his  final  surrender  to  drink  he  dropped  the  immediate 
consideration  of  the  contract  and  said :  — 

"  Malcolm,  I  have  in  my  time  known  many  fools,  but 
if  you  will  permit  an  old  man,  who  loves  you  dearly,  to 
make  a  plain  statement  of  his  conviction  —  " 

"Certainly,"  I  interrupted. 

"  It  would  be  a  great  relief  to  me,"  he  continued,  "  to 
say  that  I  believe  you  to  be  the  greatest  fool  the  good  God 
ever  permitted  to  live." 

"  I  am  sure,  Sir  George,  that  your  condescending  flattery 
is  very  pleasing,"  I  said. 


230  DOROTHY    VERNON 

Sir  George,  unmindful  of  my  remark,  continued,  "  Your 
disease  is  not  usually  a  deadly  malady,  as  a  look  a.bout  you 
will  easily  show;  but,  Malcolm,  if  you  were  one  whit  more 
of  a  fool,  you  certainly  would  perish." 

I  was  not  offended,  for  I  knew  that  my  cousin  meant  no 
offence. 

"  Then,  Sir  George,  if  the  time  ever  comes  when  I  wish 
to  commit  suicide,  I  have  always  at  hand  an  easy,  pain 
less  mode  of  death.  I  shall  become  only  a  little  more  of 
a  fool."  I  laughingly  said,  "  I  will  do  my  utmost  to  absorb 
a  little  wisdom  now  and  then  as  a  preventive." 

"  Never  a  bit  of  wisdom  will  you  ever  absorb.  A  man 
who  would  refuse  a  girl  whose  wealth  and  beauty  are  as 
great  as  Dorothy's,  is  past  all  hope.  I  often  awaken  in 
the  dark  corners  of  the  night  when  a  man's  troubles  stalk 
about  his  bed  like  livid  demons ;  and  when  I  think  that  all 
of  this  evil  which  has  come  up  between  Dorothy  and  me, 
and  all  of  this  cursed  estrangement  which  is  eating  out  my 
heart  could  have  been  averted  if  you  had  consented  to  marry 
her,  I  cannot  but  feel  —  " 

"  But,  Sir  George,"  I  interrupted,  "it  was  Dorothy,  not  I, 
who  refused.  She  could  never  have  been  brought  to  marry 
me." 

"  Don't  tell  me,  Malcolm  ;  don't  tell  me,"  cried  the  old 
man,  angrily.  Drink  had  made  Sir  George  sullen  and 
violent.  It  made  me  happy  at  first;  but  with  liquor  in  ex 
cess  there  always  came  to  me  a  sort  of  frenzy. 

"  Don't  tell  me,"  continued  Sir  George.  "  There  never 
lived  a  Vernon  who  couldn't  win  a  woman  if  he  would  try. 
But  put  all  that  aside.  She  would  have  obeyed  me.  I 
would  have  forced  her  to  marry  you,  and  she  would  have 
thanked  me  afterward." 

"  You  could  never  have  forced  her  to  marry  me,"  I  replied. 

"  But  that  I  could  and  that  I  would  have  done,"  said  Sir 
George.  "  The  like  is  done  every  day.  Girls  in  these 


THOMAS    THE    MAN-SERVANT    231 

modern  times  are  all  perverse,  but  they  are  made  to  yield. 
Take  the  cases  of  Sir  Thomas  Mobley,  Sir  Grant  Rhodas, 
and  William  Kimm.  Their  daughters  all  refused  to  marry 
the  men  chosen  for  them,  but  the  wenches  were  made  to 
yield.  If  I  had  a  daughter  who  refused  to  obey  me,  I 
would  break  her;  I  would  break  her.  Yes,  by  God,  I 
would  break  her  if  I  had  to  kill  her,"  and  the  old  man 
brought  his  clenched  hand  down  upon  the  oak  table  with 
a  crash.  His  eyes  glared  frightfully,  and  his  face  bore  a 
forbidding  expression  which  boded  no  good  for  Dorothy. 

"  She  will  make  trouble  in  this  matter,"  Sir  George  con 
tinued,  tapping  the  parchment  with  his  middle  finger. 
"  She  will  make  trouble  about  this  ;  but,  by  God,  Malcolm, 
she  shall  obey  me." 

He  struck  the  oaken  table  another  great  blow  with  his 
fist,  and  glared  fiercely  across  at  me. 

"  Lord  Wyatt  had  trouble  with  his  daughter  when  he 
made  the  marriage  with  Devonshire,"  continued  Sir  George. 
"  A  damned  good  match  it  was,  too,  for  the  girl.  But  she 
had  her  heart  set  on  young  Gillman,  and  she  refused  to 
obey  her  father.  She  refused,  by  God,  point  blank,  to 
obey  her  father.  She  refused  to  obey  the  man  who  had 
given  her  life.  What  did  Wyatt  do  ?  He  was  a  man  who 
knew  what  a  child  owes  to  its  father,  and,  by  God,  Malcolm, 
after  trying  every  other  means  to  bring  the  wench  to  her 
senses,  after  he  had  tried  persuasion,  after  having  in 
two  priests  and  a  bishop  to  show  her  how  badly  she 
was  acting,  and  after  he  had  tried  to  reason  with  her, 
he  whipped  her;  yes,  he  whipped  her  till  she  bled  —  till 
she  bled,  Malcolm,  I  tell  you.  Ah,  Wyatt  knew  what  is 
due  from  a  child  to  its  parents.  The  whipping  failed  to 
bring  the  perverse  huzzy  to  obedience,  so  Wyatt  threw  her 
into  a  dungeon  and  starved  her  till  —  till  —  " 

"  Till  she  died,"  I  interrupted. 

"Yes,  till  she  died,"  mumbled  Sir  George,  sullenly,  "till 
she  died,  and  it  served  her  right,  by  God,  served  her  right." 


232  DOROTHY    VERNON 

The  old  man  was  growing  very  drunk,  and  everything 
was  beginning  to  appear  distorted  to  me.  Sir  George  rose 
to  his  feet,  leaned  toward  me  with  glaring  eyes,  struck  the 
table  a  terrible  blow  with  his  fist,  and  said  :  — 

"  By  the  blood  of  God  I  swear  that  if  Doll  refuses  to 
marry  Stanley,  and  persists  in  her  refusal,  I'll  whip  her. 
Wyatt  is  a  man  after  my  own  heart.  I'll  starve  her.  I'll 
kill  her.  Ay,  if  I  loved  her  ten  thousand  times  more  than 
I  do,  I  would  kill  her  or  she  should  obey  me." 

Then  dawned  upon  me  a  vision  of  terrible  possibilities. 
I  was  sure  Sir  George  could  not  force  Dorothy  to  marry 
against  her  will ;  but  I  feared  lest  he  might  kill  her  in 
his  effort  to  "break  her."  I  do  not  mean  that  I  feared 
he  would  kill  her  by  a  direct  act,  unless  he  should  do 
so  in  a  moment  of  frenzy  induced  by  drink  and  passion, 
but  I  did  fear  for  the  results  of  the  breaking  process. 
The  like  had  often  happened.  It  had  happened  in  the 
case  of  Wyatt's  daughter.  Dorothy  under  the  intoxicating 
influence  of  her  passion  might  become  so  possessed  by  the 
spirit  of  a  martyr  that  she  could  calmly  take  a  flogging, 
but  my  belief  was  that  should  matters  proceed  to  that 
extreme,  should  Sir  George  flog  his  daughter,  the  chords 
of  her  highly  strung  nature  would  snap  under  the  tension, 
and  she  would  die.  I  loved  Dorothy  for  the  sake  of  her 
fierce,  passionate,  tender  heart,  and  because  she  loved  me  ; 
and  even  in  my  sober,  reflective  moments  I  had  resolved 
that  my  life,  ay,  and  Sir  George's  life  also,  should  stand 
between  the  girl  and  the  lash.  If  in  calmness  I  could 
deliberately  form  such  a  resolution,  imagine  the  effect  on 
my  liquor-crazed  brain  of  Sir  George's  words  and  the  vista 
of  horrors  they  disclosed.  I  was  intoxicated.  I  was  drunk. 
I  say  it  with  shame;  and  on  hearing  Sir  George's  threat  my 
half-frenzied  imagination  ran  riot  into  the  foreboding  future. 

All  the  candles,  save  one  tottering  wick,  were  dead  in 
their  sockets,  and  the  room  was  filled  with  lowering  phan- 


THOMAS    THE    MAN-SERVANT    233 

tom-like  shadows  from  oaken  floor  to  grimy  vaulted  roof 
beams.  Sir  George,  hardly  conscious  of  what  he  did  and 
said,  all  his  evil  passions  quickened  with  drink,  leaned  his 
hands  upon  the  table  and  glared  across  at  me.  He  seemed 
to  be  the  incarnation  of  rage  and  ferocity,  to  so  great  a 
pitch  had  he  wrought  himself.  The  sputtering  candle 
feebly  flickered,  and  seemed  to  give  its  dim  light  only  that 
the  darksome  shadows  might  flit  and  hover  about  us  like 
vampires  on  the  scent  of  blood.  A  cold  perspiration  in 
duced  by  a  nameless  fear  came  upon  me,  and  in  that  dark 
future  to  which  my  heated  imagination  travelled  I  saw,  as 
if  revealed  by  black  magic,  fair,  sweet,  generous  Dorothy, 
standing  piteously  upon  Bowling  Green  hillside.  Over  her 
drooping  form  there  hung  in  air  a  monster  cloudlike  image 
of  her  father  holding  in  its  hand  a  deadly  bludgeon.  So 
black,  so  horrid  was  this  shadow-demon  that  I  sprang  from 
my  chair  with  a  frightful  oath,  and  shrieked :  — 

"  Hell  is  made  for  man  because  of  his  cruelty  to 
woman." 

Sir  George  had  sunk  into  his  chair.  Liquor  had  finished 
its  work,  and  the  old  man,  resting  his  head  upon  his  folded 
arms,  leaned  forward  on  the  table.  He  was  drunk  —  dead 
to  the  world.  How  long  I  stood  in  frenzied  stupor 
gazing  at  shadow-stricken  Dorothy  upon  the  hillside  I  do 
not  know.  It  must  have  been  several  minutes.  Blood  of 
Christ,  how  vividly  I  remember  the  vision !  The  sunny 
radiance  of  the  girl's  hair  was  darkened  and  dead.  Her 
bending  attitude  was  one  of  abject  grief.  Her  hands 
covered  her  face,  and  she  was  the  image  of  woe.  Sud 
denly  she  lifted  her  head  with  the  quick  impulsive  move 
ment  so  familiar  in  her,  and  with  a  cry  eloquent  as  a 
child's  wail  for  its  mother  called,  "John,"  and  held  out 
her  arms  imploringly  toward  the  dim  shadowy  form  of 
her  lover  standing  upon  the  hill  crest.  Then  John's  form 
began  to  fade,  and  as  its  shadowy  essence  grew  dim, 


234  DOROTHY    VERNON 

despair  slowly  stole  like  a  mask  of  death  over  Dorothy's 
face.  She  stood  for  a  moment  gazing  vacantly  into  space. 
Then  she  fell  to  the  ground,  the  shadow  of  her  father 
hovering  over  her  prostrate  form,  and  the  words,  "  Dead, 
dead,  dead,"  came  to  me  in  horrifying  whispers  from  every 
dancing  shadow-demon  in  the  room. 

In  trying  to  locate  the  whispers  as  they  reverberated  from 
floor  to  oaken  rafters,  I  turned  and  saw  Sir  George.  He 
looked  as  if  he  were  dead. 

"  Why  should  you  not  be  dead  in  fact  ?  "  I  cried.  "You 
would  kill  your  daughter.  Why  should  I  not  kill  you  ? 
That  will  solve  the  whole  question." 

I  revelled  in  the  thought ;  I  drank  it  in ;  I  nursed  it ;  I 
cuddled  it ;  I  kissed  it.  Nature's  brutish  love  for  murder 
had  deluged  my  soul.  I  put  my  hand  to  my  side  for  the 
purpose  of  drawing  my  sword  or  my  knife.  I  had  neither 
with  me.  Then  I  remember  staggering  toward  the  fire 
place  to  get  one  of  the  fire-irons  with  which  to  kill  my 
cousin.  I  remember  that  when  I  grasped  the  fire-iron,  by 
the  strange  working  of  habit  I  employed  it  for  the  moment 
in  its  proper  use ;  and  as  I  began  to  stir  the  embers  on  the 
hearth,  my  original  purpose  was  forgotten.  That  moment 
of  habit-wrought  forgetfulness  saved  me  and  saved  Sir 
George's  life.  I  remember  that  I  sank  into  the  chair  in 
front  of  the  fireplace,  holding  the  iron,  and  I  thank  God 
that  I  remember  nothing  more. 

During  the  night  the  servants  aroused  me,  and  I  stag 
gered  up  the  stone  stairway  of  Eagle  Tower  and  clambered 
into  my  room. 

The  next  morning  I  awakened  feeling  ill.  There  was  a 
taste  in  my  mouth  as  if  I  had  been  chewing  a  piece  of  the 
devil's  boot  over  night.  I  wanted  no  breakfast,  so  I  climbed 
to  the  top  of  the  tower,  hoping  the  fresh  morning  breeze 
might  cool  my  head  and  cleanse  my  mouth.  For  a  moment 
or  two  I  stood  on  the  tower  roof  bareheaded  and  open- 


THOMAS    THE    MAN-SERVANT     235 

mouthed  while  I  drank  in  the  fresh,  purifying  air.  The 
sweet  draught  helped  me  physically ;  but  all  the  winds  of 
Boreas  could  not  have  blown  out  of  my  head  the  vision 
of  the  previous  night.  The  question,  "  Was  it  prophetic  ? " 
kept  ringing  in  my  ears,  answerless  save  by  a  superstitious 
feeling  of  fear.  Then  the  horrid  thought  that  I  had  only 
by  a  mere  chance  missed  becoming  a  murderer  came  upon 
me,  and  again  was  crowded  from  my  mind  by  the  memory 
of  Dorothy  and  the  hovering  spectre  which  had  hung  over 
her  head  on  Bowling  Green  hillside. 

I  walked  to  the  north  side  of  the  tower  and  on  looking 
down  the  first  person  I  saw  was  our  new  servant,  Thomas, 
holding  two  horses  at  the  mounting  stand.  One  of  them 
was  Dolcy,  and  I,  feeling  that  a  brisk  ride  with  Dorothy 
would  help  me  to  throw  off  my  wretchedness,  quickly 
descended  the  tower  stairs,  stopped  at  my  room  for  my 
hat  and  cloak,  and  walked  around  to  the  mounting  block. 
Dorothy  was  going  to  ride,  and  I  supposed  she  would  pre 
fer  me  to  the  new  servant  as  a  companion. 

I  asked  Thomas  if  his  mistress  were  going  out  for  a  ride, 
and  he  replied  affirmatively. 

"  Who  is  to  accompany  her  ? "  I  asked. 

"  She  gave  orders  for  me  to  go  with  her,"  he  answered. 

"Very  well,"  I  responded,  "take  your  horse  back  to  the 
stable  and  fetch  mine."  The  man  hesitated,  and  twice  he 
began  to  make  reply,  but  finally  he  said  :  — 

"  Very  well,  Sir  Malcolm." 

He  hitched  Dolcy  to  the  ring  in  the  mounting  block  and 
started  back  toward  the  stable  leading  his  own  horse.  At 
that  moment  Dorothy  came  out  of  the  tower  gate,  dressed 
for  the  ride.  Surely  no  woman  was  ever  more  beautiful 
than  she  that  morning. 

"  Tom-Tom,  where  are  you  taking  the  horse  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  To  the  stable,  Mistress,"  answered  the  servant.  "  Sir 
Malcolm  says  he  will  go  with  you." 


236  DOROTHY    VERNON 

Dorothy's  joyousness  vanished.  From  radiant  bright 
ness  her  expression  changed  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  to 
a  look  of  disappointment  so  sorrowful  that  I  at  once  knew 
there  was  some  great  reason  why  she  did  not  wish  me  to 
ride  with  her.  I  could  not  divine  the  reason,  neither  did  I 
try.  I  quickly  said  to  Thomas  :  — 

"  Do  not  bring  my  horse.  If  Mistress  Vernon  will 
excuse  me,  I  shall  not  ride  with  her  this  morning.  I  forgot 
for  the  moment  that  I  had  not  breakfasted." 

Again  came  to  Dorothy's  face  the  radiant  look  of  joy  as 
if  to  affirm  what  it  had  already  told  me.  I  looked  toward 
Thomas,  and  his  eyes,  too,  were  alight.  I  could  make 
nothing  of  it.  Thomas  was  a  fine-looking  fellow,  not 
withstanding  his  preposterous  hair  and  beard ;  but  I  felt 
sure  there  could  be  no  understanding  between  the  man 
and  his  mistress. 

When  Thomas  and  Dorothy  had  mounted,  she  timidly 
ventured  to  say  :  — 

"  We  are  sorry,  Cousin  Malcolm,  that  you  cannot  ride 
with  us." 

She  did  not  give  me  an  opportunity  to  change  my  mind, 
but  struck  Dolcy  a  sharp  blow  with  her  whip  that  sent  the 
spirited  mare  galloping  toward  the  dove-cote,  and  Thomas 
quickly  followed  at  a  respectful  distance.  From  the  dove 
cote  Dorothy  took  the  path  down  the  Wye  toward  Rowsley. 
I,  of  course,  connected  her  strange  conduct  with  John. 
When  a  young  woman  who  is  well  balanced  physically, 
mentally,  and  morally  acts  in  a  strange,  unusual  manner, 
you  may  depend  on  it  there  is  a  man  somewhere  behind 
her  motive. 

I  knew  that  John  was  in  London.  Only  the  night  before 
I  had  received  word  from  Rutland  Castle  that  he  had  not 
returned,  and  that  he  was  not  expected  home  for  many 
days. 

So  I  concluded  that  John  could  not  be  behind  my  fair 


THOMAS    THE    MAN-SERVANT     237 

cousin's  motive.  I  tried  to  stop  guessing  at  the  riddle 
Dorothy  had  set  me,  but  my  effort  was  useless.  I  won 
dered  and  thought  and  guessed,  but  I  brought  to  myself 
only  the  answer,  "  Great  is  the  mystery  of  womanhood." 

After  Dorothy  had  ridden  away  I  again  climbed  to  the 
top  of  Eagle  Tower  and  saw  the  riders  cross  the  Wye  at 
Dorothy's  former  fording-place,  and  take  the  wall.  I  then 
did  a  thing  that  fills  me  with  shame  when  I  think  of  it. 
For  the  only  time  in  my  whole  life  I  acted  the  part  of  a 
spy.  I  hurried  to  Bowling  Green  Gate,  and  horror  upon 
horror,  there  I  beheld  my  cousin  Dorothy  in  the  arms  of 
Thomas,  the  man-servant.  I  do  not  know  why  the  truth 
of  Thomas's  identity  did  not  dawn  upon  me,  but  it  did  not, 
and  I  stole  away  from  the  gate,  thinking  that  Dorothy, 
after  all,  was  no  better  than  the  other  women  I  had  known 
at  various  times  in  my  life,  and  I  resolved  to  tell  John 
what  I  had  seen.  You  must  remember  that  the  women  I 
had  known  were  of  the  courts  of  Mary  Stuart  and  of  Guise, 
and  the  less  we  say  about  them  the  better.  God  pity 
them  !  Prior  to  my  acquaintance  with  Dorothy  and  Madge 
I  had  always  considered  a  man  to  be  a  fool  who  would  put 
his  faith  in  womankind.  To  me  women  were  as  good  as 
men,  —  no  better,  no  worse.  But  with  my  knowledge  of 
those  two  girls  there  had  grown  up  in  me  a  faith  in  woman's 
virtue  which  in  my  opinion  is  man's  greatest  comforter ;  the 
lack  of  it  his  greatest  torment. 

I  went  back  to  Eagle  Tower  and  stood  at  my  window 
looking  down  the  Wye,  hoping  soon  to  see  Dorothy  return 
ing  home.  I  did  not  feel  jealousy  in  the  sense  that  a  lover 
would  feel  it;  but  there  was  a  pain  in  my  heart,  a  mingling 
of  grief,  anger,  and  resentment  because  Dorothy  had  de 
stroyed  not  only  my  faith  in  her,  but,  alas  !  my  sweet,  new 
born  faith  in  womankind.  Through  her  fault  I  had  fallen 
again  to  my  old,  black  belief  that  virtue  was  only  another 
name  for  the  lack  of  opportunity.  It  is  easy  for  a  man 


238  DOROTHY    VERNON 

who  has  never  known  virtue  in  woman  to  bear  and  forbear 
the  lack  of  it ;  but  when  once  he  has  known  the  priceless 
treasure,  doubt  becomes  excruciating  pain. 

After  an  hour  or  two  Dorothy  and  her  servant  appeared 
at  the  ford  and  took  the  path  up  the  Wye  toward  Haddon. 
Thomas  was  riding  a  short  distance  behind  his  accom 
modating  mistress,  and  as  they  approached  the  Hall,  I 
recognized  something  familiar  in  his  figure.  At  first,  the 
feeling  of  recognition  was  indistinct,  but  when  the  riders 
drew  near,  something  about  the  man  —  his  poise  on  the 
horse,  a  trick  with  the  rein  or  a  turn  with  his  stirrup,  I 
could  not  tell  what  it  was  —  startled  me  like  a  flash  in  the 
dark,  and  the  word  "John!"  sprang  to  my  lips.  The 
wonder  of  the  thing  drove  out  of  my  mind  all  power  to 
think.  I  could  only  feel  happy,  so  I  lay  down  upon  my 
bed  and  soon  dropped  off  to  sleep. 

When  I  awakened  I  was  rapt  in  peace,  for  I  had  again 
found  my  treasured  faith  in  womankind.  I  had  hardly  dared 
include  Madge  in  my  backsliding,  but  I  had  come  peril 
ously  near  doing  it,  and  the  thought  of  my  narrow  escape 
from  such  perfidy  frightened  me.  I  have  never  taken  the 
risk  since  that  day.  I  would  not  believe  the  testimony  of 
my  own  eyes  against  the  evidence  of  my  faith  in  Madge. 

I  knew  that  Thomas  was  Sir  John  Manners,  and  yet  I 
did  not  know  it  certainly.  I  determined,  if  possible,  to 
remain  in  partial  ignorance,  hoping  that  I  might  with  some 
small  show  of  truth  be  able  to  plead  ignorance  should  Sir 
George  accuse  me  of  bad  faith  in  having  failed  to  tell  him 
of  John's  presence  in  Haddon  Hall.  That  Sir  George 
would  sooner  or  later  discover  Thomas's  identity  I  had 
little  doubt.  That  he  would  kill  him  should  he  once  have 
him  in  his  power,  I  had  no  doubt  at  all.  Hence,  although 
I  had  awakened  in  peace  concerning  Dorothy,  you  may 
understand  that  I  awakened  to  trouble  concerning  John. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE  COST  MARK  OF  JOY 

jEACE  had  been  restored  between  Dorothy  and  her 
father.  At  least  an  armistice  had  been  tacitly  de 
clared.  But,  owing  to  Dorothy's  knowledge  of  her 
father's  intention  that  she  should  marry  Lord  Stanley,  and 
because  of  Sir  George's  feeling  that  Dorothy  had  deter 
mined  to  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  the  belligerent  powers 
maintained  a  defensive  attitude  which  rendered  an  absolute 
reconciliation  impossible.  They  were  ready  for  war  at  a 
moment's  notice. 

The  strangest  part  of  their  relation  was  the  failure  of 
each  to  comprehend  and  fully  to  realize  the  full  strength 
of  the  other's  purpose.  Dorothy  could  not  bring  herself  to 
believe  that  her  father,  who  had  until  within  the  last  few 
weeks,  been  kind  and  indulgent  to  her,  seriously  intended  to 
force  her  into  marriage  with  a  creature  so  despicable  as 
Stanley.  In  fact,  she  did  not  believe  that  her  father  could 
offer  lasting  resistance  to  her  ardent  desire  in  any  matter. 
Such  an  untoward  happening  had  never  befallen  her. 
Dorothy  had  learned  to  believe  from  agreeable  experience 
that  it  was  a  crime  in  any  one,  bordering  on  treason,  to  thwart 
her  ardent  desires.  It  is  true  she  had  in  certain  events,  been 
compelled  to  coax  and  even  to  weep  gently.  On  a  few 
extreme  occasions  she  had  been  forced  to  do  a  little  storm 
ing  in  order  to  have  her  own  way ;  but  that  any  presump 
tuous  individuals  should  resist  her  will  after  the  storming  had 

239 


24o  DOROTHY    VERNON 

been  resorted  to  was  an  event  of  such  recent  happening  in 
her  life  that  she  had  not  grown  familiar  with  the  thought 
of  it.  Therefore,  while  she  felt  that  her  father  might  seri 
ously  annoy  her  with  the  Stanley  project,  and  while  she 
realized  that  she  might  be  compelled  to  resort  to  the  storm 
ing  process  in  a  degree  thitherto  uncalled  for,  she  believed 
that  the  storm  she  would  raise  would  blow  her  father  en 
tirely  out  of  his  absurd  and  utterly  untenable  position.  On 
the  other  hand,  while  Sir  George  anticipated  trouble  with 
Dorothy,  he  had  never  been  able  to  believe  that  she 
would  absolutely  refuse  to  obey  him.  In  those  olden 
times  —  now  nearly  half  a  century  past  —  filial  disobedi 
ence  was  rare.  The  refusal  of  a  child  to  obey  a  parent, 
and  especially  the  refusal  of  a  daughter  to  obey  her  father 
in  the  matter  of  marriage,  was  then  looked  upon  as  a  crime 
and  was  frequently  punished  in  a  way  which  amounted 
to  barbarous  ferocity.  Sons,  being  of  the  privileged  side 
of  humanity,  might  occasionally  disobey  with  impunity,  but 
woe  to  the  poor  girl  who  dared  set  up  a  will  of  her  own. 
A  man  who  could  not  compel  obedience  from  his  daughter 
was  looked  upon  as  a  poor  weakling,  and  contempt  was 
his  portion  in  the  eyes  of  his  fellow-men  —  in  the  eyes  of 
his  fellow-brutes,  I  should  like  to  say. 

Growing  out  of  such  conditions  was  the  firm  belief  on 
the  part  of  Sir  George  that  Dorothy  would  in  the  end  obey 
him  ;  but  if  by  any  hard  chance  she  should  be  guilty  of  the 
high  crime  of  disobedience  —  Well !  Sir  George  intended 
to  prevent  the  crime.  Perhaps  mere  stubborness  and 
fear  of  the  contempt  in  which  he  would  be  held  by  his 
friends  in  case  he  were  defeated  by  his  own  daughter  were 
no  small  parts  of  Sir  George's  desire  to  carry  through  the 
enterprise  in  which  he  had  embarked  with  the  Stanleys. 
Although  there  was  no  doubt  in  Sir  George's  mind  that 
he  would  eventually  conquer  in  the  conflict  with  Dorothy, 
he  had  a  profound  respect  for  the  power  of  his  antagonist 


THE    COST    MARK    OF    JOY         241 

to  do  temporary  battle,  and  he  did  not  care  to  enter  into 
actual  hostilities  until  hostilities  should  become  actually 
necessary. 

Therefore,  upon  the  second  day  after  I  had  read  the 
beribboned,  besealed  contract  to  Sir  George,  he  sent  an 
advance  guard  toward  the  enemy's  line.  He  placed  the 
ornamental  piece  of  parchment  in  Lady  Crawford's  hands 
and  directed  her  to  give  it  to  Dorothy. 

But  before  I  tell  you  of  the  parchment  I  must  relate  a 
scene  that  occurred  in  Aunt  Dorothy's  room  a  few  hours 
after  I  recognized  John  as  he  rode  up  the  Wye  with 
Dorothy.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day  after  I 
read  the  contract  to  Sir  George  and  saw  the  horrid  vision 
on  Bowling  Green. 

I  was  sitting  with  Madge  at  the  west  window  of  Dorothy's 
parlor.  We  were  watching  the  sun  as  it  sank  in  splendor 
beneath  Overhaddon  Hill. 

I  should  like  first  to  tell  you  a  few  words  —  only  a  few, 
I  pray  you  —  concerning  Madge  and  myself.  I  will. 

I  have  just  said  that  Madge  and  I  were  watching  the 
sun  at  the  west  window,  and  I  told  you  but  the  truth,  for 
Madge  had  learned  to  see  with  my  eyes.  Gladly  would 
I  have  given  them  to  her  outright,  and  willingly  would  I 
have  lived  in  darkness  could  I  have  given  light  to  her. 
She  gave  light  to  me  —  the  light  of  truth,  of  purity,  and 
of  exalted  motive.  There  had  been  no  words  spoken  by 
Madge  nor  me  to  any  one  concerning  the  strange  and 
holy  chain  that  was  welding  itself  about  us,  save  the  par 
tial  confession  which  she  had  whispered  to  Dorothy.  But 
notwithstanding  our  silence,  our  friends  in  the  Hall  under 
stood  that  Madge  and  I  were  very  dear  to  each  other.  I, 
of  course,  saw  a  great  deal  of  her ;  but  it  was  the  evening 
hour  at  the  west  window  to  which  I  longingly  looked 
forward  all  the  day.  I  am  no  poet,  nor  do  my  words 
and  thoughts  come  with  the  rhythmic  flow  and  eloquent 


242  DOROTHY    VERNON 

imagery  of  one  to  whom  the  talent  of  poesy  is  given.  But 
during  those  evening  hours  it  seemed  that  with  the  soft 
touch  of  Madge's  hand  there  ran  through  me  a  current  of 
infectious  dreaming  which  kindled  my  soul  till  thoughts  of 
beauty  came  to  my  mind  and  words  of  music  sprang  to  my 
lips  such  as  I  had  always  considered  not  to  be  in  me.  It 
was  not  I  who  spoke;  it  was  Madge  who  saw  with  my 
eyes  and  spoke  with  my  voice.  To  my  vision,  swayed  by 
Madge's  subtle  influence,  the  landscape  became  a  thing  of 
moving  beauty  and  of  life,  and  the  floating  clouds  became 
a  panorama  of  ever  shifting  pictures.  I,  inspired  by  her, 
described  so  eloquently  the  wonders  I  saw  that  she,  too, 
could  see  them.  Now  a  flock  of  white-winged  angels 
rested  on  the  low-hung  azure  of  the  sky,  watching  the 
glory  of  Phoebus  as  he  drove  his  fiery  steeds  over  the 
western  edge  of  the  world.  Again,  Mount  Olympus  would 
grow  before  my  eyes,  and  I  would  plainly  see  Jove  sitting 
upon  his  burnished  throne,  while  gods  and  goddesses 
floated  at  his  feet  and  revelled  on  the  fleecy  mountain 
sides.  Then  would  mountain,  gods,  and  goddesses  dis 
solve,  —  as  in  fact  they  did  dissolve  ages  ago  before  the 
eyes  of  millions  who  had  thought  them  real,  —  and  in  their 
places  perhaps  would  come  a  procession  of  golden-maned 
lions,  at  the  description  of  which  would  Madge  take  pre 
tended  fright.  Again,  would  I  see  Madge  herself  in  flow 
ing  white  robes  made  of  the  stuff  from  which  fleecy  clouds 
are  wrought.  All  these  wonders  would  I  describe,  and 
when  I  would  come  to  tell  her  of  the  fair  cloud  image  of 
herself  I  would  seize  the  joyous  chance  to  make  her 
understand  in  some  faint  degree  how  altogether  lovely  in 
my  eyes  the  vision  was.  Then  would  she  smile  and  softly 
press  my  hand  and  say  :  — 

"  Malcolm,  it  must  be  some  one  else  you  see  in  the 
clouds,"  though  she  was  pleased. 

But  when  the  hour  was  done  then  came  the  crowning 


THE    COST    MARK    OF    JOY         243 

moment  of  the  day,  for  as  I  would  rise  to  take  my  leave, 
if  perchance  we  were  alone,  she  would  give  herself  to  my 
arms  for  one  fleering  instant  and  willingly  would  her  lips 
await — but  there  are  moments  too  sacred  for  aught  save  holy 
thought.  The  theme  is  sweet  to  me,  but  I  must  go  back 
to  Dorothy  and  tell  you  of  the  scene  I  have  promised  you. 

As  I  have  already  said,  it  was  the  evening  following 
that  upon  which  I  had  read  the  marriage  contract  to  Sir 
George,  and  had  seen  the  vision  on  the  hillside.  Madge 
and  I  were  sitting  at  the  west  window.  Dorothy,  in  kind 
ness  to  us,  was  sitting  alone  by  the  fireside  in  Lady  Craw 
ford's  chamber.  Thomas  entered  the  room  with  an  armful 
of  fagots,  which  he  deposited  in  the  fagot-holder.  He  was 
about  to  replenish  the  fire,  but  Dorothy  thrust  him  aside, 
and  said :  — 

"  You  shall  kindle  no  more  fires  for  me.  At  least  you 
shall  not  do  so  when  no  one  else  is  by.  It  pains  me  that 
you,  at  whose  feet  I  am  unworthy  to  kneel,  should  be  my 
servant." 

Thereupon  she  took  in  her  hands  the  fagot  John  had 
been  holding.  He  offered  to  prevent  her,  but  she  said  :  — 

"  Please,  John,  let  me  do  this." 

The  doors  were  open,  and  we  heard  all  that  was  said  by 
Dorothy  and  Tom.  Madge  grasped  my  hand  in  surprise 
and  fear. 

"  Please,  John,"  said  Dorothy,  "  if  it  gives  me  pleasure 
to  be  your  servant,  you  should  not  wish  to  deny  me.  There 
lives  but  one  person  whom  I  would  serve.  There,  John,  I 
will  give  you  another,  and  you  shall  let  me  do  as  I  will." 

Dorothy,  still  holding  the  fagot  in  her  hands,  pressed  it 
against  John's  breast  and  gently  pushed  him  backward 
toward  a  large  armchair,  in  which  she  had  been  sitting  by 
the  west  side  of  the  fireplace. 

"  You  sit  there,  John,  and  we  will  make  believe  that  this 
is  our  house,  and  that  you  have  just  come  in  very  cold  from 


244  DOROTHY    VERNON 

a  ride,  and  that  I  am  making  a  fine  fire  to  warm  you.  Isn't 
it  pleasant,  John?  There,  you  sit  and  warm  yourself  — 
my  —  my  —  husband,"  she  said  laughingly.  "It  is  fine 
sport  even  to  play  at.  There  is  one  fagot  on  the  fire,"  she 
said,  as  she  threw  the  wood  upon  the  embers,  causing  them 
to  fly  in  all  directions.  John  started  up  to  brush  the  scat 
tered  embers  back  into  the  fireplace,  but  Dorothy  stopped 
him. 

"  I  will  put  them  all  back,"  she  said.  "  You  know  you 
are  cold  and  very  tired.  You  have  been  overseeing  the 
tenantry  and  have  been  hunting.  Will  you  have  a  bowl 
of  punch,  my  —  my  husband  ?  "  and  she  laughed  again  and 
kissed  him  as  she  passed  to  the  holder  for  another  fagot. 

"  I  much  prefer  that  to  punch,"  said  John,  laughing 
softly.  "  Have  you  more  ?  " 

"Thousands  of  them,  John,  thousands  of  them."  She 
rippled  forth  a  little  laugh  and  continued :  "  I  occupy  my 
time  nowadays  in  making  them  that  I  may  always  have  a 
great  supply  when  we  are  —  that  is,  you  know,  when  you 
—  when  the  time  comes  that  you  may  require  a  great  many 
to  keep  you  in  good  humor."  Again  came  the  laugh,  merry 
and  clear  as  the  tinkle  of  sterling  silver. 

She  laughed  again  within  a  minute  or  two  ;  but  when  the 
second  laugh  came,  it  sounded  like  a  knell. 

Dorothy  delighted  to  be  dressed  in  the  latest  fashion. 
Upon  this  occasion  she  wore  a  skirt  vast  in  width,  of 
a  pattern  then  much  in  vogue.  The  sleeves  also  were 
preposterously  large,  in  accordance  with  the  custom  of 
the  times.  About  her  neck  a  beautiful  white  linen  ruff 
stood  out  at  least  the  eighth  part  of  an  ell.  The  day  had 
been  damp  and  cold,  and  the  room  in  which  she  had  been 
sitting  was  chilly.  For  that  reason,  most  fortunately,  she 
had  thrown  over  her  shoulders  a  wide  sable  cloak  broad 
enough  to  enfold  her  many  times  and  long  enough  to 
reach  nearly  to  her  knees :  Dorothy  thus  arrayed  was 


THE    COST    MARK    OF    JOY         245 

standing  in  front  of  John's  chair.  She  had  just  spoken 
the  words  "good  humor,"  when  the  door  leading  to  her 
father's  room  opened  and  in  walked  Sir  George.  She 
and  her  ample  skirts  and  broad  sleeves  were  between 
John  and  the  door.  Not  one  brief  instant  did  Dorothy 
waste  in  thought.  Had  she  paused  to  put  in  motion 
the  machinery  of  reason,  John  would  have  been  lost. 
Thomas  sitting  in  Lady  Crawford's  chair  and  Dorothy 
standing  beside  him  would  have  told  Sir  George  all  he 
needed  to  know.  He  might  not  have  discovered  John's 
identity,  but  a  rope  and  a  tree  in  Bowling  Green  would 
quickly  have  closed  the  chapter  of  Dorothy's  mysterious 
love  affair.  Dorothy,  however,  did  not  stop  to  reason  nor 
to  think.  She  simply  acted  without  preliminary  thought, 
as  the  rose  unfolds  or  as  the  lightning  strikes.  She 
quietly  sat  down  upon  John's  knees,  leaned  closely  back 
against  him,  spread  out  the  ample  folds  of  her  skirt,  threw 
the  lower  parts  of  her  broad  cape  over  her  shoulders  and 
across  the  back  of  the  chair,  and  Sir  John  Manners  was 
invisible  to  mortal  eyes. 

"  Come  in,  father,"  said  Dorothy,  in  dulcet  tones  that 
should  have  betrayed  her. 

"  I  heard  you  laughing  and  talking,"  said  Sir  George, 
"  and  I  wondered  who  was  with  you." 

"  I  was  talking  to  Madge  and  Malcolm  who  are  in  the 
other  room,"  replied  Dorothy. 

"  Did  not  Thomas  come  in  with  fagots  ? "  asked  Sir 
George. 

"  I  think  he  is  replenishing  the  fire  in  the  parlor,  father, 
or  he  may  have  gone  out.  I  did  not  notice.  Do  you  want 
him?" 

"  I  do  not  especially  want  him,"  Sir  George  answered. 

"  When  he  finishes  in  the  parlor  I  will  tell  him  that  you 
want  him,"  said  Dorothy. 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Sir  George. 


246  DOROTHY    VERNON 

He  returned  to  his  room,  but  he  did  not  close  the  door. 

The  moment  her  father's  back  was  turned  Dorothy 
called :  — 

"Tom-Tom,  father  wants  you,"  and  instantly  Thomas 
was  standing  deferentially  by  her  side,  and  she  was  seated 
in  the  great  chair.  It  was  a  rapid  change,  I  assure  you. 
But  a  man's  life  and  his  fortune  for  good  or  ill  often  hang 
upon  a  tiny  peg  —  a  second  of  time  protruding  from  the 
wall  of  eternity.  It  serves  him  briefly ;  but  if  he  be  ready 
for  the  vital  instant,  it  may  serve  him  well. 

"  Yes,  mistress,"  said  Thomas,  "  I  go  to  him  at  once." 

John  left  the  room  and  closed  the  door  as  he  passed  out. 
Then  it  was  that  Dorothy's  laugh  sounded  like  the  chilling 
tones  of  a  knell.  It  was  the  laugh  of  one  almost  dis 
traught.  She  came  to  Madge  and  me  laughing,  but  the 
laugh  quickly  changed  to  convulsive  sobs.  The  strain  of 
the  brief  moment  during  which  her  father  had  been  in 
Lady  Crawford's  room  had  been  too  great  for  even  her 
strong  nerves  to  bear.  She  tottered  and  would  have  fallen 
had  I  not  caught  her.  I  carried  her  to  the  bed,  and 
Madge  called  Lady  Crawford.  Dorothy  had  swooned. 

When  she  wakened  she  said  dreamily  :  — 

"  I  shall  always  keep  this  cloak  and  gown." 

Aunt  Dorothy  thought  the  words  were  but  the  incohe 
rent  utterances  of  a  dimly  conscious  mind,  but  I  knew  they 
were  the  deliberate  expression  of  a  justly  grateful  heart. 

The  following  evening  trouble  came  about  over  the 
matter  of  the  marriage  contract. 

You  remember  I  told  you  that  Sir  George  had  sent  Lady 
Crawford  as  an  advance  guard  to  place  the  parchment  in 
the  enemy's  hands.  But  the  advance  guard  feared  the 
enemy  and  therefore  did  not  deliver  the  contract  directly 
to  Dorothy.  She  placed  it  conspicuously  upon  the  table, 
knowing  well  that  her  niece's  curiosity  would  soon  prompt 
an  examination. 


THE    COST    MARK    OF    JOY         247 

I  was  sitting  before  the  fire  in  Aunt  Dorothy's  room, 
talking  to  Madge  when  Lady  Crawford  entered,  placed 
the  parchment  on  the  table,  and  took  a  chair  by  my  side. 
Soon  Dorothy  entered  the  room.  The  roll  of  parchment, 
brave  with  ribbons,  was  lying  on  the  table.  It  attracted 
her  attention  at  once,  and  she  took  it  in  her  hands. 

"What  is  this  ?  "  she  asked  carelessly.  Her  action  was 
prompted  entirely  by  idle  curiosity.  That,  by  the  way, 
was  no  small  motive  with  Dorothy.  She  had  the  curiosity 
of  a  young  doe.  Receiving  no  answer,  she  untied  the 
ribbons  and  unrolled  the  parchment  to  investigate  its  con 
tents  for  herself.  When  the  parchment  was  unrolled,  she 
began  to  read  :  — 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  amen.  This  indenture  of  agree 
ment,  looking  to  union  in  the  holy  bonds  of  marriage 
between  the  Right  Honorable  Lord  James  Stanley  of  the 
first  part,  and  Mistress  Dorothy  Vernon  of  Haddon  of  the 
second  part  —  " 

She  read  no  farther.  She  crumpled  the  beautiful  parch 
ment  in  her  hands,  walked  over  to  the  fire,  and  quietly 
placed  the  sacred  instrument  in  the  midst  of  the  flames. 
Then  she  turned  away  with  a  sneer  of  contempt  upon  her 
face  and  —  again  I  grieve  to  tell  you  this  —  said  :  — 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  amen.  May  this  indenture  be 
damned." 

"  Dorothy!"  exclaimed  Lady  Crawford,  horrified  at  her 
niece's  profanity.  "I  feel  shame  for  your  impious  words." 

"  I  don't  care  what  you  feel,  aunt,"  retorted  Dorothy, 
with  a  dangerous  glint  in  her  eyes.  "  Feel  as  you  wish, 
I  meant  what  I  said,  and  I  will  say  it  again  if  you  would 
like  to  hear  it.  I  will  say  it  to  father  when  I  see  him. 
Now,  Aunt  Dorothy,  I  love  you  and  I  love  my  father,  but 
I  give  you  fair  warning  there  is  trouble  ahead  for  any  one 
who  crosses  me  in  this  matter." 

She  certainly  looked  as  if  she  spoke  the  truth.     Then 


248  DOROTHY    VERNON 

she  hummed  a  tune  under  her  breath  —  a  dangerous  signal 
in  Dorothy  at  certain  times.  Soon  the  humming  turned 
to  whistling.  Whistling  in  those  olden  days  was  looked 
upon  as  a  species  of  crime  in  a  girl. 

Dorothy  stood  by  the  window  for  a  short  time  and  then 
taking  up  an  embroidery  frame,  drew  a  chair  nearer  to 
the  light  and  began  to  work  at  her  embroidery.  In  a 
moment  or  two  she  stopped  whistling,  and  we  could  almost 
feel  the  silence  in  the  room.  Madge,  of  course,  only  partly 
knew  what  had  happened,  and  her  face  wore  an  expression 
of  expectant,  anxious  inquiry.  Aunt  Dorothy  looked  at  me, 
and  I  looked  at  the  fire.  The  parchment  burned  slowly. 
Lady  Crawford,  from  a  sense  of  duty  to  Sir  George  and 
perhaps  from  politic  reasons,  made  two  or  three  attempts 
to  speak,  and  after  five  minutes  of  painful  silence  she 
brought  herself  to  say :  — 

"  Dorothy,  your  father  left  the  contract  here  for  you  to 
read.  He  will  be  angry  when  he  learns  what  you  have 
done.  Such  disobedience  is  sure  to —  " 

"  Not  another  word  from  you,"  screamed  Dorothy, 
springing  like  a  tigress  from  her  chair.  "  Not  another 
word  from  you  or  I  will  —  I  will  scratch  you.  I  will  kill 
some  one.  Don't  speak  to  me.  Can't  you  see  that  I  am 
trying  to  calm  myself  for  an  interview  with  father  ?  An 
angry  brain  is  full  of  blunders.  I  want  to  make  none.  I 
will  settle  this  affair  with  father.  No  one  else,  not  even  you, 
Aunt  Dorothy,  shall  interfere."  The  girl  turned  to  the  win 
dow,  stood  beating  a  tattoo  upon  the  glass  for  a  moment  or 
two,  then  went  over  to  Lady  Crawford  and  knelt  by  her 
side.  She  put  her  arms  about  Aunt  Dorothy's  neck,  softly 
kissed  her,  and  said  :  — 

"  Forgive  me,  dear  aunt ;  forgive  me.  I  am  almost  crazed 
with  my  troubles.  I  love  you  dearly  indeed,  indeed  I  do." 

Madge  gropingly  went  to  Dorothy's  side  and  took  her 
hand.  Dorothy  kissed  Madge's  hand  and  rose  to  her  feet. 


THE    COST    MARK    OF    JOY         249 

"  Where  is  my  father  ? "  asked  Dorothy,  to  whom  a 
repentant  feeling  toward  Lady  Crawford  had  brought 
partial  calmness.  "  I  will  go  to  him  immediately  and  will 
have  this  matter  over.  We  might  as  well  understand  each 
other  at  once.  Father  seems  very  dull  at  understanding 
me.  But  he  shall  know  me  better  before  long." 

Sir  George  may  have  respected  the  strength  of  his 
adversary,  but  Dorothy  had  no  respect  for  the  strength  of 
her  foe.  She  was  eager  for  the  fray.  When  she  had  a 
disagreeable  thing  to  do,  she  always  wanted  to  do  it  quickly. 

Dorothy  was  saved  the  trouble  of  seeking  her  father,  for 
at  that  moment  he  entered  the  room. 

"  You  are  welcome,  father,"  said  Dorothy  in  cold,  defiant 
tones.  "  You  have  come  just  in  time  to  see  the  last  flicker 
ing  flame  of  your  fine  marriage  contract."  She  led  him  to 
the  fireplace.  "  Does  it  not  make  a  beautiful  smoke  and 
blaze?" 

"  Did  you  dare  —  " 

"Ay,  that  I  did,"  replied  Dorothy. 

"  You  dared  ?  "  again  asked  her  father,  unable  to  believe 
the  evidence  of  his  eyes. 

"  Ay,  so  I  said ;  that  I  did,"  again  said  Dorothy. 

"By  the  death  of  Christ  —  "  began  Sir  George. 

"  Now  be  careful,  father,  about  your  oaths,"  the  girl 
interrupted.  "  You  must  not  forget  the  last  batch  you 
made  and  broke." 

Dorothy's  words  and  manner  maddened  Sir  George.  The 
expression  of  her  whole  person,  from  her  feet  to  her  hair, 
breathed  defiance.  The  poise  of  her  body  and  of  her 
limbs,  the  wild  glint  in  her  eyes,  and  the  turn  of  her  head, 
all  told  eloquently  that  Sir  George  had  no  chance  to  win 
and  that  Dorothy  was  an  unconquerable  foe.  It  is  a  won 
der  he  did  not  learn  in  that  one  moment  that  he  could  never 
bring  his  daughter  to  marry  Lord  Stanley. 

"  I  will  imprison  you,"  cried  Sir  George,  gasping  with  rage. 


250  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Very  well,"  responded  Dorothy,  smilingly.  "  You  kept 
me  prisoner  for  a  fortnight.  I  did  not  ask  you  to  liberate 
me.  I  am  ready  to  go  back  to  my  apartments." 

"  But  now  you  shall  go  to  the  dungeon,"  her  father 
said. 

"  Ah,  the  dungeon ! "  cried  the  girl,  as  if  she  were  de 
lighted  at  the  thought.  "  The  dungeon  !  Very  well,  again. 
I  am  ready  to  go  to  the  dungeon.  You  may  keep  me  there 
the  remainder  of  my  natural  life.  I  cannot  prevent  you 
from  doing  that,  but  you  cannot  force  me  to  marry  Lord 
Stanley." 

"  I  will  starve  you  until  you  obey  me !  "  retorted  her 
father.  "  I  will  starve  you  !  " 

"That,  again,  you  may  easily  do,  my  dear  father;  but 
again  I  tell  you  I  will  never  marry  Stanley.  If  you  think 
I  fear  to  die,  try  to  kill  me.  I  do  not  fear  death.  You  have 
it  not  in  your  power  to  make  me  fear  you  or  anything  you 
can  do.  You  may  kill  me,  but  I  thank  God  it  requires  my 
consent  for  my  marriage  to  Stanley,  and  I  swear  before 
God  that  never  shall  be  given." 

The  girl's  terrible  will  and  calm  determination  staggered 
Sir  George,  and  by  its  force  beat  down  even  his  strong  will. 
The  infuriated  old  man  wavered  a  moment  and  said  :  — 

"  Fool,  I  seek  only  your  happiness  in  this  marriage. 
Only  your  happiness.  Why  will  you  not  consent  to  it?" 

I  thought  the  battle  was  over,  and  that  Dorothy  was  the 
victor.  She  thought  so,  too,  but  was  not  great  enough  to 
bear  her  triumph  silently.  She  kept  on  talking  and  carried 
her  attack  too  far. 

"  And  I  refuse  to  obey  because  of  my  happiness.  I  refuse 
because  I  hate  Lord  Stanley,  and  because,  as  you  already 
know,  I  love  another  man." 

When  she  spoke  the  words  "because  I  love  another 
man,"  the  cold,  defiant  expression  of  her  face  changed  to 
one  of  ecstasy. 


THE    COST    MARK    OF    JOY         251 

"  I  will  have  you  to  the  dungeon  this  very  hour,  you 
brazen  huzzy,"  cried  Sir  George. 

"  How  often,  father,  shall  I  repeat  that  I  am  ready  to  go 
to  the  dungeon  ?  I  am  eager  to  obey  you  in  all  things 
save  one." 

"  You  shall  have  your  wish,"  returned  Sir  George. 
"  Would  that  you  had  died  ere  you  had  disgraced  your 
house  with  a  low-bred  dog  whose  name  you  are  ashamed  tc 
utter." 

"  Father,  there  has  been  no  disgrace,"  Dorothy  answered, 
and  her  words  bore  the  ring  of  truth. 

"  You  have  been  meeting  the  fellow  at  secluded  spots 
in  the  forest — how  frequently  you  have  met  him  God  only 
knows  —  and  you  lied  to  me  when  you  were  discovered  at 
Bowling  Green  Gate." 

"  I  would  do  it  again  gladly  if  I  but  had  the  chance," 
answered  the  girl,  who  by  that  time  was  reckless  of  conse 
quences. 

"  But  the  chance  you  shall  not  have,"  retorted  Sir  George. 

"  Do  not  be  too  sure,  father,"  replied  Dorothy.  She 
was  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  to  mystify  him.  "  I 
may  see  him  before  another  hour.  I  will  lay  you  this 
wager,  father,  if  I  do  not  within  one  hour  see  the  man  — 
the  man  whom  I  love  —  I  will  marry  Lord  Stanley.  If  I 
see  him  within  that  time  you  shall  permit  me  to  marry  him. 
I  have  seen  him  two  score  times  since  the  day  you  surprised 
me  at  the  gate." 

That  was  a  dangerous  admission  for  the  girl  to  make, 
and  she  soon  regretted  it  with  all  her  heart.  Truly  she 
was  right.  An  angry  brain  is  full  of  blunders. 

Of  course  Dorothy's  words,  which  were  so  full  of  mean 
ing  to  Madge  and  me,  meant  little  to  Sir  George.  He 
looked  upon  them  only  as  irritating  insolence  on  her  part, 
A  few  minutes  later,  however,  they  became  full  of  sig 
nificance. 


252  DOROTHY    VERNON 

Sir  George  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  Stanley  marriage 
and  the  burning  of  the  contract  in  his  quarrel  with  Dorothy 
over  her  unknown  lover. 

Conceive,  if  you  can,  the  situation  in  H addon  Hall  at 
that  time.  There  was  love-drunk  Dorothy,  proud  of  the 
skill  which  had  enabled  her  to  outwit  her  wrathful  father. 
There  was  Sir  George,  whose  mental  condition,  inflamed 
by  constant  drinking,  bordered  on  frenzy  because  he  felt 
that  his  child,  whom  he  had  so  tenderly  loved  from  the  day 
of  her  birth,  had  disgraced  herself  with  a  low-born  wretch 
whom  she  refused  to  name.  And  there,  under  the  same 
roof,  lived  the  man  who  was  the  root  and  source  of  all  the 
trouble.  A  pretty  kettle  of  fish  ! 

"  The  wager,  father,  will  you  take  it  ? "  eagerly  asked 
Dorothy. 

Sir  George,  who  thought  that  her  words  were  spoken 
only  to  anger  him,  waved  her  off  with  his  hands  and 
said  :  — 

"  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  I  know  the  wretch  for 
whose  sake  you  have  disgraced  yourself.  You  may  be 
sure  that  I  shall  soon  know  him  with  certainty.  When  I 
do,  I  will  quickly  have  him  in  my  power.  Then  I  will 
hang  him  to  a  tree  on  Bowling  Green,  and  you  shall  see 
the  low-born  dog  die." 

"  He  is  better  born  than  any  of  our  house,"  retorted 
Dorothy,  who  had  lost  all  sense  of  caution.  "Ay,  he  is 
better  born  than  any  with  whom  we  claim  kin." 

Sir  George  stood  in  open-eyed  wonder,  and  Dorothy 
continued  :  "  You  cannot  keep  him  from  me.  I  shall  see 
him,  and  I  will  have  him  despite  you.  I  tell  you  again,  I 
have  seen  him  two  score  times  since  you  tried  to  spy  upon 
us  at  Bowling  Green  Gate,  and  I  will  see  him  whenever  I 
choose,  and  I  will  wed  him  when  I  am  ready  to  do  so. 
You  cannot  prevent  it.  You  can  only  be  forsworn,  oath 
upon  oath ;  and  if  I  were  you,  I  would  stop  swearing." 


THE    COST    MARK    OF    JOY         253 

Sir  George,  as  was  usual  with  him  in  those  sad  times, 
was  inflamed  with  drink,  and  Dorothy's  conduct,  I  must 
admit,  was  maddening.  In  the  midst  of  her  taunting 
Thomas  stepped  into  the  room  bearing  an  armful  of  fagots. 
Sir  George  turned  to  him  and  said :  — 

"  Go  and  tell  Welch  to  bring  a  set  of  manacles." 

"  For  Mistress  Dorothy  ?  "  Thomas  asked,  surprised  into 
the  exclamation. 

"  Curse  you,  do  you  mean  to  bandy  words  with  me,  you 
scum  ?  "  cried  Sir  George. 

He  snatched  a  fagot  from  John  and  drew  back  his  arm 
to  strike  him.  John  took  one  step  back  from  Sir  George 
and  one  step  nearer  to  Dorothy. 

"  Yes,  Thomas,"  said  Dorothy,  sneeringly,  "bring  Welch 
with  the  manacles  for  me.  My  dear  father  would  put  me 
in  the  dungeon  out  of  the  reach  of  other  men,  so  that  he 
may  keep  me  safely  for  my  unknown  lover.  Go,  Thomas. 
Go,  else  father  will  again  be  forsworn  before  Christ  and 
upon  his  knighthood." 

"  This  before  a  servant !  I'll  gag  you,  you  hellish 
vixen,"  cried  Sir  George.  Then  I  am  sure  he  knew  not 
what  he  did.  "  Curse  you  !  "  he  cried,  as  he  held  the  fagot 
upraised  and  rushed  upon  Dorothy.  John,  with  his  arms 
full  of  fagots,  could  not  avert  the  blow  which  certainly 
would  have  killed  the  girl,  but  he  could  take  it.  He  sprang 
between  Dorothy  and  her  father,  the  fagot  fell  upon 
his  head,  and  he  sank  to  the  floor.  In  his  fall  John's  wig 
dropped  off,  and  when  the  blood  began  to  flow  from  the 
wound  Dorothy  kneeled  beside  his  prostrate  form.  She 
snatched  the  great  bush  of  false  beard  from  his  face 
and  fell  to  kissing  his  lips  and  his  hands  in  a  paroxysm 
of  passionate  love  and  grief.  Her  kisses  she  knew  to 
be  a  panacea  for  all  ills  John  could  be  heir  to,  and 
she  thought  they  would  heal  even  the  wound  her  father 
had  given,  and  stop  the  frightful  outpouring  of  John's 


254  DOROTHY    VERNON 

life-blood.  The  poor  girl,  oblivious  of  all  save  her  wounded 
lover,  murmured  piteously  :  — 

"John,  John,  speak  to  me;  'tis  Dorothy."  She  placed 
her  lips  near  his  ear  and  whispered  :  "  'Tis  Dorothy,  John. 
Speak  to  her."  But  she  received  no  response.  Then  came 
a  wild  light  to  her  eyes  and  she  cried  aloud  :  "John,  'tis 
Dorothy.  Open  your  eyes.  Speak  to  me,  John !  oh,  for 
God's  sake  speak  to  me !  Give  some  little  sign  that  you 
live,"  but  John  was  silent.  "  My  God,  my  God !  Help, 
help !  Will  no  one  help  me  save  this  man  ?  See  you 
not  that  his  life  is  flowing  away  ?  This  agony  will  kill 
me.  John,  my  lover,  my  lord,  speak  to  me.  Ah,  his 
heart,  his  heart!  I  will  know."  She  tore  from  his  breast 
the  leathern  doublet  and  placed  her  ear  over  his  heart. 
"Thank  God,  it  beats!  "  she  cried  in  a  frenzied  whisper, 
as  she  kissed  his  breast  and  turned  her  ear  again  to  hear 
his  heart's  welcome  throbbing.  Then  she  tried  to  lift 
him  in  her  arms  and  succeeded  in  placing  his  head 
in  her  lap.  It  was  a  piteous  scene.  God  save  me  from 
witnessing  another  like  it. 

After  Dorothy  lifted  John's  head  to  her  lap  he  began  to 
breathe  perceptibly,  and  the  girl's  agitation  passed  away  as 
she  gently  stroked  his  hair  and  kissed  him  over  and  over 
again,  softly  whispering  her  love  to  his  unresponsive  ear 
in  a  gentle  frenzy  of  ineffable  tenderness  such  as  was 
never  before  seen  in  this  world,  I  do  believe.  I  wish  with 
all  my  heart  that  I  were  a  maker  of  pictures  so  that  I 
might  draw  for  you  the  scene  which  is  as  clear  and  vivid 
in  every  detail  to  my  eyes  now  as  it  was  upon  that  awful 
day  in  Haddon  Hall.  There  lay  John  upon  the  floor  and 
by  his  side  knelt  Dorothy.  His  head  was  resting  in  her 
lap.  Over  them  stood  Sir  George  with  the  murderous 
fagot  raised,  as  if  he  intended  again  to  strike.  I  had 
sprung  to  his  side  and  was  standing  by  him,  intending  to 
fell  him  to  the  floor  should  he  attempt  to  repeat  the  blow 


THE    COST    MARK    OF    JOY         255 

upon  either  Dorothy  or  John.  Across  from  Sir  George  and 
me,  that  is,  upon  the  opposite  side  of  Dorothy  and  John, 
stood  Lady  Crawford  and  Madge,  who  clung  to  each  other 
in  terror.  The  silence  was  heavy,  save  when  broken  by 
Dorothy's  sobs  and  whispered  ejaculations  to  John.  Sir 
George's  terrible  deed  had  deprived  all  of  us,  includ 
ing  himself,  of  the  power  to  speak.  I  feared  to  move  from 
his  side  lest  he  should  strike  again.  After  a  long  agony 
of  silence  he  angrily  threw  the  fagot  away  from  him  and 
asked  :  — 

"  Who  is  this  fellow  ?     Can  any  one  tell  me  ?  " 

Only  Madge,  Dorothy,  and  I  could  have  given  him  true 
answer.  By  some  strange  power  of  divination  Madge  had 
learned  all  that  had  happened,  and  she  knew  as  well  as  I 
the  name  of  the  man  who  lay  upon  the  floor  battling  with 
death.  Neither  Madge  nor  I  answered. 

"  Who  is  this  fellow  ?  "  again  demanded  Sir  George. 

Dorothy  lifted  her  face  toward  her  father. 

"  He  is  the  man  whom  you  seek,  father,"  she  answered, 
in  a  low,  tearful  voice.  "  He  is  my  lover ;  he  is  my  life  ;  he 
is  my  soul,  and  if  you  have  murdered  him  in  your  attempt 
to  kill  your  own  child,  all  England  shall  hear  of  it  and  you 
shall  hang.  He  is  worth  more  in  the  eyes  of  the  queen 
than  we  and  all  our  kindred.  You  know  not  whom  you 

J 

have  killed." 

Sir  George's  act  had  sobered  him. 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  kill  him  —  in  that  manner,"  said 
Sir  George,  dropping  his  words  absent-mindedly.  "  I  hoped 
to  hang  him.  Where  is  Dawson  ?  Some  one  fetch  Dawson." 

Several  of  the  servants  had  gathered  about  the  open 
door  in  the  next  room,  and  in  obedience  to  Sir  George's 
command  one  of  them  went  to  seek  the  forester.  I  feared 
that  John  would  die  from  the  effects  of  the  blow ;  but  I 
also  knew  from  experience  that  a  man's  head  may  receive 
very  hard  knocks  and  life  still  remain.  Should  John  re- 


256  DOROTHY    VERNON 

cover  and  should  Sir  George  learn  his  name,  I  was  sure 
that  my  violent  cousin  would  again  attempt  the  personal 
administration  of  justice  and  would  hang  him,  under  the 
old  Saxon  law.  In  that  event  Parliament  would  not  be  so 
easily  pacified  as  upon  the  occasion  of  the  former  hanging 
at  Haddon ;  and  I  knew  that  if  John  should  die  by  my 
cousin's  hand,  Sir  George  would  pay  for  the  act  with  his 
life  and  his  estates.  Fearing  that  Sir  George  might  learn 
through  Dawson  of  John's  identity,  I  started  out  in  search 
of  Will  to  have  a  word  with  him  before  he  could  see  his 
master.  I  felt  sure  that  for  many  reasons  Will  would  be 
inclined  to  save  John  ;  but  to  what  extent  his  fidelity  to  the 
cause  of  his  master  might  counteract  his  resentment  of  Sir 
George's  act,  I  did  not  know.  I  suspected  that  Dawson 
was  privy  to  John's  presence  in  Haddon  Hall,  but  I  was 
not  sure  of  it,  so  I  wished  to  prepare  the  forester  for  his 
interview  with  Sir  George  and  to  give  him  a  hint  of  my 
plans  for  securing  John's  safety,  in  the  event  he  should  not 
die  in  Aunt  Dorothy's  room. 

When  I  opened  the  door  in  the  Northwest  Tower  I  saw 
Dawson  coming  toward  the  Hall  from  the  dove-cote,  and 
I  hastened  forward  to  meet  him.  It  was  pitiful  that  so 
good  a  man  as  Sir  George  Vernon  was,  should  have  been 
surrounded  in  his  own  house  by  real  friends  who  were  also 
traitors.  That  was  the  condition  of  affairs  in  Haddon  Hall, 
and  I  felt  that  I  was  the  chief  offender.  The  evil,  how 
ever,  was  all  of  Sir  George's  making.  Tyranny  is  the 
father  of  treason. 

When  I  met  Dawson  I  said  :  "  Will,  do  you  know  who 
Tom-Tom  is  ? " 

The  forester  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  said,  "  Well, 
Sir  Malcolm,  I  suppose  he  is  Thomas  —  " 

"  No,  no,  Will,  tell  me  the  truth.  Do  you  know  that  he 
is  —  or  perhaps  by  this  time  I  should  say  he  was  —  Sir  John 
Manners  ?  " 


THE    COST    MARK    OF    JOY         257 

"  Was  ?  "  cried  Will  "  Great  God  !  Has  Sir  George 
discovered  —  is  he  dead?  If  he  is  dead,  it  will  be  a  sad 
day  for  Sir  George  and  for  Haddon  Hall.  Tell  me 
quickly." 

I  at  once  knew  Will  Dawson  was  in  the  secret.  I 
answered :  — 

"  I  hope  he  is  not  dead.  Sir  George  attempted  to  strike 
Dorothy  with  a  fagot,  but  Thomas  stepped  in  front  of  her 
and  received  the  blow.  He  is  lying  almost,  if  not  quite, 
dead  in  Lady  Crawford's  room.  Sir  George  knows  nothing 
about  him,  save  that  he  is  Dorothy's  lover.  But  should 
Thomas  revive  I  feel  sure  my  cousin  will  hang  him  in  the 
morning  unless  steps  are  taken  to  prevent  the  deed." 

"  Sir  Malcolm,  if  you  will  stand  by  me,"  said  Dawson, 
"  Sir  George  will  not  hang  him." 

"  I  certainly  will  stand  by  you,  Dawson.  Have  no 
doubt  on  that  score.  Sir  George  intends  to  cast  John  into 
the  dungeon,  and  should  he  do  so  I  want  you  to  send 
Jennie  Faxton  to  Rutland  and  have  her  tell  the  Rutlanders 
to  rescue  John  to-night.  To-morrow  morning  I  fear  will 
be  too  late.  Be  on  your  guard,  Will.  Do  not  allow  Sir 
George  to  discover  that  you  have  any  feeling  in  this  matter. 
Above  all,  lead  him  from  the  possibility  of  learning  that 
Thomas  is  Sir  John  Manners.  I  will  contrive  to  admit  the 
Rutland  men  at  midnight." 

I  hastened  with  Dawson  back  to  the  Hall,  where  we 
found  the  situation  as  I  had  left  it.  John's  head  was  lying 
on  Dorothy's  lap,  and  she  was  trying  to  dress  his  wound 
with  pieces  of  linen  torn  from  her  clothing.  Sir  George 
was  pacing  to  and  fro  across  the  room,  breaking  forth  at 
times  in  curses  against  Dorothy  because  of  her  relations 
with  a  servant. 

When  Dawson  and  I  entered  the  room,  Sir  George  spoke 
angrily  to  Will :  — 

"  Who  is  this  fellow  ?    You  employed  him.    Who  is  he  ?  " 


258  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  He  gave  me  his  name  as  Thomas  Thompson,"  returned 
Will,  "  and  he  brought  me  a  favorable  letter  of  recommen 
dation  from  Danford." 

Danford  was  forester  to  the  Duke  of  Devonshire,  and 
lived  at  Chatsworth. 

"  There  was  naught  in  the  letter  save  that  he  was  a 
good  servant  and  an  honest  man.  That  is  all  we  can 
ask  of  any  man." 

"  But  who  is  he  ?  "  again  demanded  Sir  George. 

"  Your  worship  may  perhaps  learn  from  Danford  more 
than  I  can  tell  you,"  replied  the  forester,  adroitly  avoiding 
a  lie. 

"  Think  of  it,  Malcolm,"  said  Sir  George,  speaking  to 
me.  "  Think  of  it.  My  daughter,  my  only  child,  seeks 
for  her  husband  this  low-born  serving  man.  I  have  always 
been  sure  that  the  fellow  would  prove  to  be  such."  Then 
he  turned  to  Dawson  :  "  Throw  the  fellow  into  the  dun 
geon.  If  he  lives  till  morning,  I  will  have  him  hanged. 
To  the  dungeon  with  him." 

Sir  George  waved  his  hand  toward  Dawson  and  Tom 
Welch,  and  then  stepped  aside.  Will  made  an  effort  to 
hide  his  feelings,  and  without  a  word  or  gesture  that  could 
betray  him,  he  and  Welch  lifted  John  to  carry  him  away. 
Then  it  was  piteous  to  see  Dorothy.  She  clung  to  John 
and  begged  that  he  might  be  left  with  her.  Sir  George 
violently  thrust  her  away  from  John's  side,  but  she,  still 
upon  her  knees,  grasped  her  father's  hand  and  cried  out 
in  agony  :  — 

"  Father,  let  me  remain  with  him.  If  you  have  ever 
felt  love  for  me,  and  if  my  love  for  you  has  ever  touched 
one  tender  spot  in  your  heart,  pity  me  now  and  leave  this 
man  with  me,  or  let  me  go  with  him.  I  beg  you,  father ; 
I  plead  ;  I  implore.  He  may  be  dying.  We  know  not. 
In  this  hour  of  my  agony  be  merciful  to  me." 

But  Sir  George  rudely  repulsed  her  and  left  the  room, 


THE    COST    MARK    OF    JOY         259 

following  Welch  and  Dawson,  who  bore  John's  uncon 
scious  form  between  them.  Dorothy  rose  to  her  feet 
screaming  and  tried  to  follow  John.  I,  fearing  that  in 
her  frenzy  of  grief  she  might  divulge  John's  name,  caught 
her  in  my  arms  and  detained  her  by  force.  She  turned 
upon  me  savagely  and  struck  me  in  her  effort  to  escape. 
She  called  me  traitor,  villain,  dog,  but  I  lifted  her  in  my 
arms  and  carried  her  struggling  to  her  bedroom.  I 
wanted  to  tell  her  of  the  plans  which  Dawson  and  I  had 
made,  but  I  feared  to  do  so,  lest  she  might  in  some  way 
betray  them,  so  I  left  her  in  the  room  with  Lady  Craw 
ford  and  Madge.  I  told  Lady  Crawford  to  detain  Doro 
thy  at  all  hazards,  and  I  whispered  to  Madge  asking  her 
to  tell  Dorothy  that  I  would  look  to  John's  comfort  and 
safety.  I  then  hastily  followed  Sir  George,  Dawson,  and 
Welch,  and  in  a  few  moments  I  saw  them  leave  John, 
bleeding  and  senseless,  upon  the  dungeon  floor.  When 
Sir  George's  back  was  turned,  Dawson  by  my  orders 
brought  the  surgeon  from  the  stable  where  he  had  been 
working  with  the  horses.  The  surgeon  bound  up  the 
wound  in  John's  head  and  told  me,  to  my  great  joy,  that 
it  was  not  fatal.  Then  he  administered  a  reviving  potion 
and  soon  consciousness  returned.  I  whispered  to  John 
that  Dawson  and  I  would  not  forsake  him,  and,  fearing 
discovery  by  Sir  George,  hurriedly  left  the  dungeon. 

I  believe  there  is  a  certain  amount  of  grief  and  sorrow 
which  comes  with  every  great  joy  to  give  it  a  cost  mark 
whereby  we  may  always  know  its  value.  The  love  between 
Dorothy  and  John  indeed  was  marked  in  plain  figures  of 
high  denominations. 


CHAPTER   XII 


ON  leaving  the  dungeon  I  sought  Madge,  and  after  I 
had  whispered  a  word  to  her  from  my  heart  I 
asked  her  to  tell  Dorothy  the  encouraging  words 
of  the  surgeon,  and  also  to  tell  her  that  she  should  not  be 
angry  with  me  until  she  was  sure  she  had  good  cause.  I 
dared  not  send  a  more  explicit  message,  and  I  dared  not  go 
to  Dorothy,  for  Sir  George  was  in  a  suspicious  mood  and  I 
feared  ruin  not  only  for  myself  but  for  John,  should  my 
violent  cousin  suspect  me  of  sympathy  with  his  daughter 
and  her  lover. 

I  also  sought  Aunt  Dorothy  and  whispered  a  word  to 
her  of  which  you  shall  hear  more  presently. 

"Ah,  I  cannot  do  it,"  cried  the  trembling  old  lady  in 
response  to  my  whispered  request.  "  I  cannot  do  it." 

"  But  you  must,  Aunt  Dorothy,"  I  responded.  "  Upon 
it  depend  three  lives  :  Sir  George's,  Dorothy's,  and  her 
lover's.  You  must  do  it." 

"  I  will  try,"  she  replied. 

"  That  assurance  will  not  suit  me,"  I  responded.  "  You 
must  promise  upon  your  salvation  that  you  will  not  fail  me." 

"  I  promise  upon  my  salvation,"  replied  Aunt  Dorothy. 

That  evening  of  course  we  did  not  see  the  ladies  at 
supper.  Sir  George  and  I  ate  in  silence  until  my  cousin 
became  talkative  from  drink.  Then  he  spoke  bitterly  of 
Dorothy's  conduct,  and  bore  with  emphasis  upon  the  fact 

260 


THE    LEICESTER    POSSIBILITY      261 

that  the  lover  to  whom  Dorothy  had  stooped  was  a  low 
born  serving  man. 

"  But  Dorothy  declares  he  is  noble,"  I  responded. 

"  She  has  lied  to  me  so  often  that  I  do  not  believe  a 
word  she  says,"  returned  Sir  George. 

He  swore  oath  upon  oath  that  the  wretch  should  hang 
in  the  morning,  and  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  into  effect 
his  intention  he  called  in  Joe  the  butcher  and  told  him  to 
make  all  things  ready  for  the  execution. 

I  did  not  attempt  to  thwart  his  purpose  by  word  or  ges 
ture,  knowing  it  would  be  useless,  but  hoped  that  John 
would  be  out  of  his  reach  long  ere  the  cock  would  crow 
his  first  greeting  to  the  morrow's  sun. 

After  Sir  George  had  drunk  far  into  the  night  the  ser 
vants  helped  him  to  bed,  and  he  carried  with  him  the  key 
to  the  dungeon  together  with  the  keys  to  all  the  outer 
doors  and  gates  of  Haddon  Hall,  as  was  his  custom.  The 
keys  were  in  a  bunch,  held  together  by  an  iron  ring,  and 
Sir  George  always  kept  them  under  his  pillow  at  night. 

I  sought  my  bed  in  Eagle  Tower  and  lay  down  in  my 
clothes  to  rest  and  wait.  The  window  of  my  room  was  open. 

Within  an  hour  after  midnight  I  heard  the  hooting  of 
an  owl.  The  doleful  sound  came  up  to  me  from  the  direc 
tion  of  the  stone  footbridge  at  the  southwest  corner  of  the 
Hall  below  the  chapel.  I  went  to  my  window  and  looked 
out  over  the  courts  and  terrace.  Haddon  Hall  and  all 
things  in  and  about  it  were  wrapped  in  slumbrous  silence. 
I  waited,  and  again  I  heard  the  hooting  of  the  owl  Noise 
lessly  leaving  my  room  I  descended  the  stone  steps  to 
an  unused  apartment  in  the  tower  from  which  a  window 
opened  upon  the  roof  of  the  north  wing  of  the  Hall. 
Along  that  roof  I  crept  with  bared  feet,  till  I  reached 
another  roof,  the  battlements  of  which  at  the  lowest  point 
were  not  more  than  twenty  feet  from  the  ground.  Thence 
I  clambered  down  to  a  window  cornice  five  or  six  feet 


262  DOROTHY    VERNON 

lower,  and  jumped,  at  the  risk  of  my  limbs,  the  remaining 
distance  of  fifteen  or  sixteen  feet  to  the  soft  sod  beneath. 
I  ran  with  all  haste,  took  my  stand  under  Aunt  Dorothy's 
window,  and  whistled  softly.  The  window  casing  opened 
and  I  heard  the  great  bunch  of  keys  jingling  and  clinking 
against  the  stone  wall  as  Aunt  Dorothy  paid  them  out 
to  me  by  means  of  a  cord.  After  I  had  secured  the  keys 
I  called  in  a  whisper  to  Lady  Crawford  and  directed  her  to 
leave  the  cord  hanging  from  the  window.  I  also  told  her 
to  remain  in  readiness  to  draw  up  the  keys  when  they 
should  have  served  their  purpose.  Then  I  took  them 
and  ran  to  the  stone  footbridge  where  I  found  four  Rut 
land  men  who  had  come  in  response  to  the  message  Daw- 
son  had  sent  by  Jennie  Faxton.  Two  of  the  men  went 
with  me,  and  we  entered  the  lower  garden  by  the  southwest 
postern.  Thence  we  crept  noiselessly  to  the  terrace  and 
made  our  entrance  into  the  Hall  by  "  Dorothy's  Postern." 
I  had  in  my  life  engaged  in  many  questionable  and  danger 
ous  enterprises,  but  this  was  my  first  attempt  at  house- 
breaking.  To  say  that  I  was  nervous  would  but  poorly 
define  the  state  of  my  feelings.  Since  that  day  I 
have  respected  the  high  calling  of  burglary  and  regard 
with  favor  the  daring  knights  of  the  skeleton  key. 
I  was  frightened.  I,  who  would  feel  no  fear  had  I 
to  fight  a  dozen  men,  trembled  with  fright  during  this 
adventure.  The  deathlike  silence  and  the  darkness  in 
familiar  places  seemed  uncanny  to  me.  The  very  chairs 
and  tables  appeared  to  be  sleeping,  and  I  was  fearful  lest 
they  should  awaken.  I  cannot  describe  to  you  how  I 
was  affected.  Whether  it  was  fear  or  awe  or  a  smiting 
conscience  I  cannot  say,  but  my  teeth  chattered  as  if  they 
were  in  the  mouth  of  a  fool,  and  my  knees  quaked  as  if 
they  supported  a  coward.  Still  I  knew  I  was  doing  my 
duty,  though  one's  conscience  sometimes  smites  him  when 
his  reason  tells  him  he  is  acting  righteously.  It  is  more  dan- 


THE    LEICESTER    POSSIBILITY      263 

gerous  to  possess  a  sensitive  conscience  which  cannot  be 
made  to  hear  reason  than  to  have  none  at  all.  But  I  will 
make  short  my  account  of  that  night's  doings.  The  two 
Rutland  men  and  I  groped  our  way  to  the  dungeon  and 
carried  forth  John,  who  was  weak  from  loss  of  blood.  I 
told  them  to  lock  the  door  of  the  Hall  as  they  passed  out 
and  to  attach  the  keys  to  the  cord  hanging  from  Lady 
Crawford's  window.  Then  I  climbed  to  my  room  again, 
feeling  in  conscience  like  a  criminal  because  I  had  done 
the  best  act  of  my  life. 

Early  next  morning  I  was  awakened  by  a  great  noise  in 
the  upper  court.  When  I  looked  out  at  my  window  I  be 
held  Sir  George.  He  was  half  dressed  and  was  angrily 
questioning  the  servants  and  retainers.  I  knew  that  he 
had  discovered  John's  escape,  but  I  did  not  know  all,  nor 
did  I  know  the  worst.  I  dressed  and  went  to  the  kitchen, 
where  I  bathed  my  hands  and  face.  There  I  learned  that 
the  keys  to  the  hall  had  been  stolen  from  under  Sir 
George's  pillow,  and  that  the  prisoner  had  escaped  from 
the  dungeon.  Old  Bess,  the  cook,  nodded  her  head  wisely 
and  whispered  to  me  the  words,  "  Good  for  Mistress  Doll." 

Bess's  unsought  confidence  alarmed  me.  I  did  not  relish 
the  thought  that  Bess  nor  any  one  else  should  believe  me 
to  be  in  sympathy  with  Dorothy,  and  I  said  :  — 

"  If  Mistress  Vernon  had  aught  to  do  with  last  night's 
affairs,  she  should  be  full  of  shame.  I  will  not  believe  that 
she  knew  of  it  at  all.  My  opinion  is  that  one  of  the  ser 
vants  was  bribed  by  some  person  interested  in  Tom-Tom's 
escape." 

"  Believe  nothing  of  the  sort,"  retorted  Bess.  "  It  is  the 
mistress  and  not  the  servant  who  stole  the  keys  and  liber 
ated  Tom-Tom.  But  the  question  is,  who  may  Tom-Tom 
be  ?  and  the  servants'  hall  is  full  of  it.  We  are  not  uncer 
tain  as  to  the  manner  of  his  escape.  Some  of  the  servants 
do  say  that  the  Earl  of  Leicester  be  now  visiting  the  Duke 


264  DOROTHY    VERNON 

of  Devonshire  ;  and  some  also  do  say  that  his  Lordship  be 
fond  of  disguises  in  his  gallantry.  They  do  also  say  that 
the  queen  is  in  love  with  him,  and  that  he  must  disguise 
himself  when  he  woos  elsewhere,  or  she  he's  famously  jeal 
ous.  It  would  be  a  pretty  mess  the  master  has  brought 
us  all  into  should  Tom-Tom  prove  to  be  my  lord  Earl  of 
Leicester.  We'd  all  hang  and  to  hell." 

"  Bess,  that  tongue  of  yours  will  cost  you  your  head  one 
of  these  good  times,"  I  remarked,  while  I  rubbed  my  face 
with  the  towel. 

"I  would  sooner  lose  my  head,"  retorted  Bess,  "than 
have  my  mouth  shut  by  fear.  I  know,  Sir  Malcolm,  that 
I'll  not  die  till  my  time  comes ;  but  please  the  good  God 
when  my  time  does  come  I  will  try  to  die  talking." 

"  That  you  will,"  said  I. 

"  True  word,  Sir  Malcolm,"  she  answered,  and  I  left  her 
in  possession  of  the  field. 

I  went  into  the  courtyard,  and  when  Sir  George  saw  me 
he  said,  "  Malcolm,  come  with  me  to  my  room ;  I  want  a 
word  with  you." 

We  went  to  his  room. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  of  the  fellow's  escape  last  night  ?" 
he  said. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "  Bess  told  me  about  it  in  the  kitchen." 

It  seemed  to  me  that  my  words  said,  "  I  did  it." 

"  Not  only  was  the  fellow  liberated,"  said  my  cousin, 
"  but  the  keys  to  all  the  outer  gates  and  doors  of  the  Hall 
have  been  stolen  and  carried  away.  Can  you  help  me 
unravel  this  affair  ?  " 

"  Do  you  suspect  any  one  of  having  stolen  the  keys  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  I  know,  of  course,  that  Dorothy  did  it.  Who  her 
accomplices  were,  if  any  she  had,  I  do  not  know.  I  have 
catechized  the  servants,  but  the  question  is  bottomless  to 
me." 


THE    LEICESTER    POSSIBILITY      265 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  Dorothy  on  the  subject  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  but  I  have  sent  word  to  her  by 
the  Faxton  girl  that  I  am  going  to  see  her  at  once.  Come 
with  me." 

We  went  into  Lady  Crawford's  room.  She  was  ill  and 
in  bed.  I  did  not  wonder  that  she  was  ill  after  the  experi 
ences  of  the  previous  night.  Sir  George  asked  her  if  she 
had  heard  or  seen  Dorothy  pass  through  her  room  during 
the  night.  She  said  :  — 

"  Dorothy  did  not  pass  through  this  room  last  night.  I 
did  not  once  close  my  eyes  in  sleep,  and  I  should  have  seen 
her  had  she  been  here  at  all." 

Sir  George  entered  Dorothy's  bedroom,  and  Lady  Craw 
ford  beckoned  me  to  go  to  her  side. 

"  I  waited  till  sunrise,"  she  said,  "that  I  might  draw  up 
the  keys." 

"  Hush  !  "  said  I,  "  the  cord  ?  " 

"  I  burned  it,"  she  replied. 

Then  I  followed  Sir  George  into  Dorothy's  room.  Madge 
was  dressed  for  the  day,  and  Dorothy,  who  had  been  help 
ing  her,  was  making  her  own  toilet.  Her  hair  hung 
loose  and  fell  like  a  cataract  of  sunshine  over  her 
bare  shoulders.  But  no  words  that  I  can  write  would 
give  you  a  conception  of  her  wondrous  beauty,  and  I  shall 
not  waste  them  in  the  attempt.  When  we  entered  the 
room  she  was  standing  at  the  mirror.  She  turned,  comb 
in  hand,  toward  Sir  George  and  said  :  — 

"  I  suppose,  father,  you  will  accuse  me  of  liberating 
Thomas." 

"  You  must  know  that  I  will  accuse  you,"  replied  Sir 
George. 

"  Then,  father,  for  once  you  will  accuse  me  falsely.  I 
am  overjoyed  that  he  has  escaped,  and  I  certainly  should 
have  tried  to  liberate  him  had  I  thought  it  possible  to  do  so. 


266  DOROTHY    VERNON 

But  I  did  not  do  it,  though  to  tell  you  the  truth  I  am  sorry 
I  did  not." 

"  I  do  not  believe  you,"  her  father  replied. 

"  I  knew  you  would  not  believe  me,"  answered  Dorothy. 
"  Had  I  liberated  him  I  should  probably  have  lied  to  you 
about  it ;  therefore,  I  wonder  not  that  you  should  disbelieve 
me.  But  I  tell  you  again  upon  my  salvation  that  I  know 
nothing  of  the  stealing  of  the  keys  nor  of  Tom-Tom's 
escape.  Believe  me  or  not,  I  shall  deny  it  no  more." 

Madge  gropingly  went  to  Sir  George's  side,  and  he  ten 
derly  put  his  arms  about  her,  saying :  — 

"  I  would  that  you  were  my  daughter."  Madge  took  his 
hand  caressingly. 

"  Uncle,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  Dorothy  speaks  the 
truth,"  she  said.  "  I  have  been  with  her  every  moment 
since  the  terrible  scene  of  yesterday  evening.  Neither 
Dorothy  nor  I  closed  our  eyes  in  sleep  all  night  long. 
She  lay  through  the  dark  hours  moaning,  and  I  tried 
to  comfort  her.  Our  door  was  locked,  and  it  was  opened 
only  by  your  messenger  who  brought  the  good  news  of 
Tom-Tom's  escape.  I  say  good  news,  uncle,  because  his 
escape  has  saved  you  from  the  stain  of  murder.  You  are 
too  brave  a  man  to  do  murder,  uncle." 

"  How  dare  you,"  said  Sir  George,  taking  his  arm  from 
Madge's  waist,  "how  dare  you  defend  —  " 

"  Now,  uncle,  I  beg  you  pause  and  take  a  moment's 
thought,"  said  Madge,  interrupting  him.  "  You  have  never 
spoken  unkindly  to  me." 

"  Nor  will  I,  Madge,  so  long  as  I  live.  I  know  there  is 
not  a  lie  in  you,  and  I  am  sure  you  believe  to  be  true  all 
you  tell  me,  but  Dorothy  has  deceived  you  by  some  adroit 
trick." 

"  If  she  deceived  me,  she  is  a  witch,"  retorted  Madge, 
laughing  softly. 

"  That  I  am  almost  ready  to  believe  is  the  case,"  said  Sir 


THE    LEICESTER    POSSIBILITY     267 

George.  Dorothy,  who  was  combing  her  hair  at  the 
mirror,  laughed  softly  and  said :  — 

"  My  broomstick  is  under  the  bed,  father." 

Sir  George  went  into  Lady  Crawford's  room  and  shut 
the  door,  leaving  me  with  the  girls. 

When  her  father  had  left,  Dorothy  turned  upon  me 
with  fire  in  her  eyes  :  — 

"  Malcolm  Vernon,  if  you  ever  lay  hands  upon  me  again 
as  you  did  last  night,  I  will  —  I  will  scratch  you.  You 
pretended  to  be  his  friend  and  mine,  but  for  a  cowardly 
fear  of  my  father  you  came  between  us  and  you  carried  me 
to  this  room  by  force.  Then  you  locked  the  door  ai  d  — 
and"  — 

"  Did  not  Madge  give  you  my  message  ?  "  I  asked, 
interrupting  her. 

"  Yes,  but  did  you  not  force  me  away  from  him  when, 
through  my  fault,  he  was  almost  at  death's  door  ? " 

"Have  your  own  way,  Dorothy,"  I  said.  "There  lives 
not,  I  hope,  another  woman  in  the  world  so  unreasoning 
and  perverse  as  you." 

She  tossed  her  head  contemptuously  and  continued  to 
comb  her  hair. 

"  How,  suppose  you,"  I  asked,  addressing  Dorothy's 
back,  as  if  I  were  seeking  information,  "  how,  suppose 
you,  the  Rutland  people  learned  that  John  was  confined 
in  the  Haddon  dungeon,  and  how  did  they  come  by  the 
keys  ?" 

The  girl  turned  for  a  moment,  and  a  light  came  to  her 
anger-clouded  face  as  the  rainbow  steals  across  the  black 
ened  sky. 

"  Malcolm,  Malcolm,"  she  cried,  and  she  ran  to  me  with 
her  bare  arms  outstretched. 

"  Did  you  liberate  him  ?  "  she  asked.  "  How  did  you 
get  the  keys?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  of  it,  Dorothy,  nothing,"  I  replied. 


268  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Swear  it,  Malcolm,  swear  it,"  she  said. 

"  I  will  swear  to  nothing,"  I  said,  unclasping  her  arms 
from  my  neck. 

"  Then  I  will  kiss  you,"  she  answered,  "  for  you  are  my 
dear  good  brother,  and  never  so  long  as  I  live  will  I  again 
doubt  you." 

But  she  did  before  long  doubt  me  again,  and  with  good 
cause. 

Dorothy  being  in  a  gentle  humor,  I  took  advantage  of 
the  opportunity  to  warn  her  against  betraying  John's  name 
to  her  father.  I  also  told  her  to  ask  her  father's  forgive 
ness,  and  advised  her  to  feign  consent  to  the  Stanley  mar 
riage.  Matters  had  reached  a  point  where  some  remedy, 
however  desperate,  must  be  applied. 

Many  persons,  I  fear,  will  condemn  me  for  advising 
Dorothy  to  deceive  her  father ;  but  what  would  you  have 
had  me  do  ?  Should  I  have  told  her  to  marry  Stanley  ? 
Certainly  not.  Had  I  done  so,  my  advice  would  have 
availed  nothing.  Should  I  have  advised  her  to  antago 
nize  her  father,  thereby  keeping  alive  his  wrath,  bringing 
trouble  to  herself  and  bitter  regret  to  him  ?  Certainly  not. 
The  only  course  left  for  me  to  advise  was  the  least  of 
three  evils  —  a  lie.  Three  evils  must  be  very  great  indeed 
when  a  lie  is  the  least  of  them.  In  the  vast  army  of  evils 
with  which  this  world  swarms  the  lie  usually  occupies  a 
proud  position  in  the  front  rank.  But  at  times  conditions 
arise  when,  coward-like,  he  slinks  to  the  rear  and  evils 
greater  than  he  take  precedence.  In  such  sad  case  I 
found  Dorothy,  and  I  sought  help  from  my  old  enemy,  the 
lie.  Dorothy  agreed  with  me  and  consented  to  do  all  in 
her  power  to  deceive  her  father,  and  what  she  could  not 
do  to  that  end  was  not  worth  doing. 

Dorothy  was  anxious  about  John's  condition,  and  sent 
Jennie  Faxton  to  Bowling  Green,  hoping  a  letter  would  be 
there  for  her.  Jennie  soon  returned  with  a  letter,  and 


THE    LEICESTER    POSSIBILITY     269 

Dorothy  once  more  was  full  of  song,  for  John's  letter  told 
her  that  he  was  fairly  well  and  that  he  would  by  some 
means  see  her  soon  again  despite  all  opposition. 

"At  our  next  meeting,  my  fair  mistress,"  John  said  in 
the  letter,  "  you  must  be  ready  to  come  with  me.  I  will 
wait  no  longer  for  you.  In  fairness  to  me  and  to  yourself 
you  shall  not  ask  me  to  wait.  I  will  accept  no  more 
excuses.  You  must  come  with  me  when  next  we  meet." 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  Dorothy  to  Madge,  "  if  I  must  go 
with  him,  I  must.  Why  did  he  not  talk  in  that  fashion 
when  we  rode  out  together  the  last  time  ?  I  like  to  be 
made  to  do  what  I  want  to  do.  He  was  foolish  not  to 
make  me  consent,  or  better  still  would  it  have  been  had 
he  taken  the  reins  of  my  horse  and  ridden  off  with  me, 
with  or  against  my  will.  I  might  have  screamed,  and  I 
might  have  fought  him,  but  I  could  not  have  hurt  him, 
and  he  would  have  had  his  way,  and —  and,"  with  a  sigh, 
"  I  should  have  had  my  way." 

After  a  brief  pause  devoted  to  thought,  she  contin 
ued  :  — 

"  If  I  were  a  man  and  were  wooing  a  woman,  I  would 
first  learn  what  she  wanted  to  do  and  then  —  and  then,  by 
my  word,  I  would  make  her  do  it." 

I  went  from  Dorothy's  room  to  breakfast,  where  I  found 
Sir  George.  I  took  my  seat  at  the  table  and  he  said  :  — 

"  Who,  in  God's  name,  suppose  you,  could  have  taken 
the  keys  from  my  pillow  ?  " 

"  Is  there  any  one  whom  you  suspect  ?  "  I  asked  for  lack 
of  anything  else  to  say. 

"  I  at  first  thought,  of  course,  that  Dorothy  had  taken 
them,"  he  answered.  "  But  Madge  would  not  lie,  neither 
would  my  sister.  Dorothy  would  not  hesitate  to  lie  her 
self  blue  in  the  face,  but  for  some  reason  I  believed  her 
when  she  told  me  she  knew  nothing  of  the  affair.  Her 
words  sounded  like  truth  for  once." 


270  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  I  think,  Sir  George,"  said  I,  "  you  should  have  left 
off  '  for  once.'  Dorothy  is  not  a  liar.  She  has  spoken 
falsely  to  you  only  because  she  fears  you.  I  am  sure  that 
a  lie  is  hateful  to  her." 

"Malcolm,  I  wish  I  could  have  your  faith,"  he  responded. 
"  By  the  way,  Malcolm,  have  you  ever  seen  the  Earl  of 
Leicester  ?  " 

"  I  saw  him  only  once.  He  visited  Scotland  during  the 
ceremonies  at  Queen  Mary's  return  from  France.  I  saw 
him  once,  and  then  but  briefly.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  It  is  whispered  among  the  servants,"  said  Sir  George, 
"  that  Leicester  is  at  Chatsworth  in  disguise." 

Chatsworth  was  the  home  of  the  Duke  of  Devonshire, 
and  was  but  a  short  distance  from  Haddon.  After  Sir 
George  spoke,  I  remembered  the  words  of  old  Bess. 

"  Still,  I  do  not  know  why  you  ask."     I  said. 

"  My  reason  is  this,"  replied  Sir  George ;  "  Dorothy 
declared  the  fellow  was  of  noble  blood.  It  is  said  that 
Leicester  loves  gallant  adventure  incognito.  He  fears 
her  Majesty's  jealousy  if  in  such  matters  he  acts  openly. 
You  remember  the  sad  case  of  Mistress  Robsart.  I 
wonder  what  became  of  the  girl  ?  He  made  way  with 
her  in  some  murderous  fashion,  I  am  sure."  Sir  George 
remained  in  revery  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  poor  old 
man  cried  in  tones  of  distress :  "  Malcolm,  if  that  fellow 
whom  I  struck  last  night  was  Leicester,  and  if  he  has  been 
trying  his  hellish  tricks  on  my  Doll  I  —  I  should  pity 
her  ;  I  should  not  abuse  her.  I  may  have  been  wrong.  If 
he  has  wronged  Doll  —  if  he  has  wronged  my  girl,  I  will 
pursue  him  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  for  vengeance.  That 
is  why  I  ask  if  you  have  ever  seen  the  Earl  of  Leicester. 
Was  the  man  who  lay  upon  the  floor  last  night  Robert  Dud 
ley  ?  If  it  were  he,  and  if  I  had  known  it,  I  would  have 
beaten  him  to  death  then  and  there.  Poor  Doll !  " 

Any  one  hearing  the  old  man  speak  would  easily  have 


THE    LEICESTER    POSSIBILITY     271 

known  that  Doll  was  all  that  life  held  for  him  to 
love. 

"  I  do  not  distinctly  remember  Leicester's  face,"  I 
answered,  "  but  since  you  speak  of  it,  I  believe  there  is  a 
resemblance  between  him  and  the  man  we  called  Thomas. 
But  even  were  it  he,  Sir  George,  you  need  have  no  fear 
for  Dorothy.  She  of  all  women  is  able  and  willing  to 
protect  herself." 

"  I  will  go  to  Dorothy  and  ask  her  to  tell  me  the  truth. 
Come  with  me." 

We  again  went  to  Dorothy's  room.  She  had,  since  I 
last  saw  her,  received  the  letter  from  John  of  which  I  have 
spoken,  and  when  we  entered  her  parlor  where  she  and 
Madge  were  eating  breakfast  we  found  her  very  happy. 
As  a  result  she  was  willing  and  eager  to  act  upon  my 
advice. 

She  rose  and  turned  toward  her  father. 

"You  told  me,  Doll,  that  the  fellow  was  of  noble  blood. 
Did  you  speak  the  truth  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father,  I  spoke  the  truth.  There  is  no  nobler 
blood  in  England  than  his,  save  that  of  our  royal  queen. 
In  that  you  may  believe  me,  father,  for  I  speak  the 
truth." 

Sir  George  remained  silent  for  a  moment  and  then 
said :  — 

"  If  the  man  is  he  whom  I  believe  him  to  be  he  can  have 
no  true  purpose  with  you.  Tell  me,  my  child  —  the  truth 
will  bring  no  reproaches  from  me  —  tell  me,  has  he  mis 
used  you  in  any  way  ?  " 

"  No,  father,  before  God,  he  has  been  a  true  gentleman 
to  me." 

The  poor  old  man  struggled  for  a  moment  with  his 
emotions ;  then  tears  came  to  his  eyes  and  he  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands  as  he  started  to  leave  the  room. 

Dorothy  ran  to  him   and  clasped  her  arms    about   his 


272  DOROTHY    VERNON 

neck.  Those  two,  father  and  child,  were  surely  of  one 
blood  as  shown  in  the  storms  of  violence  and  tenderness  by 
which  their  natures  were  alternately  swept. 

"  Father,  you  may  believe  me ;  you  do  believe  me," 
said  Dorothy.  "  Furthermore,  I  tell  you  that  this  man 
has  treated  me  with  all  courtesy,  nay,  more  :  he  has  treated 
me  with  all  the  reverence  he  would  have  shown  our 
queen." 

"  He  can  have  no  true  purpose  with  you,  Doll," 
said  Sir  George,  who  felt  sure  that  Leicester  was  the 
man. 

"  But  he  has,  father,  a  true  purpose  with  me.  He  would 
make  me  his  wife  to-day  would  I  consent." 

"  Why  then  does  he  not  seek  you  openly  ?  " 

"  That  he  cannot  do,"  Dorothy  responded  hesitatingly. 

"Tell  me,  Doll,  who  is  the  man  ?  "  asked  Sir  George. 

I  was  standing  behind  him  and  Dorothy's  face  was 
turned  toward  me.  She  hesitated,  and  I  knew  by  her 
expression  that  she  was  about  to  tell  all.  Sir  George,  I 
believe,  would  have  killed  her  had  she  done  so.  I  placed 
my  finger  on  my  lips  and  shook  my  head. 

Dorothy  said :  "  That  I  cannot  tell  you,  father.  You 
are  wasting  words  in  asking  me." 

"  Is  it  because  of  his  wish  that  you  refuse  to  tell  me  his 
name  ?  "  asked  Sir  George.  I  nodded  my  head. 

"Yes,  father,"  softly  responded  Dorothy  in  the  old 
dangerous,  dulcet  tones. 

"That  is  enough  ;  I  know  who  the  man  is." 

Dorothy  kissed  her  father.  He  returned  the  caress, 
much  to  my  surprise,  and  left  the  room. 

When  I  turned  to  follow  Sir  George  I  glanced  toward 
Dorothy.  Her  eyes  were  like  two  moons,  so  full  were  they 
of  wonderment  and  inquiry. 

I  stopped  with  Sir  George  in  his  room.  He  was  medi 
tative  and  sad. 


THE    LEICESTER    POSSIBILITY     273 

"  I  believe  my  Doll  has  told  me  the  truth,"  he  said. 

"  Have  no  doubt  of  it,  Sir  George,"  I  replied. 

"  But  what  good  intent  can  Leicester  have  toward  my 
girl  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Of  that  I  cannot  say,"  I  replied  ;  "  but  my  dear  cousin, 
of  this  fact  be  sure  :  if  he  have  evil  intent  toward  Dorothy, 
he  will  fail." 

"  But  there  was  the  Robsart  girl,"  he  replied. 

"Ay,"  said  I,  "but  Dorothy  Vernon  is  not  Amy  Rob 
sart.  Have  no  fear  of  your  daughter.  She  is  proof 
against  both  villany  and  craft.  Had  she  been  in  Mistress 
Robsart's  place,  Leicester  would  not  have  deserted  her. 
Dorothy  is  the  sort  of  woman  men  do  not  desert.  What 
say  you  to  the  fact  that  Leicester  might  wish  to  make  her 
his  wife  ?  " 

"  He  may  purpose  to  do  so  secretly,  as  in  the  case  of 
the  Robsart  girl,"  returned  Sir  George.  "  Go,  Malcolm, 
and  ask  her  if  he  is  willing  to  make  her  his  wife  before 
the  world." 

I  was  glad  of  an  opportunity  for  a  word  with  Dorothy, 
so  I  hastily  went  to  her.  I  told  her  of  the  Leicester  phase 
of  the  situation,  and  I  also  told  her  that  her  father  had 
asked  me  if  the  man  whom  she  loved  was  willing  to  make 
her  his  wife  before  the  world. 

"Tell  my  father,"  said  she,  "that  I  will  be  no  man's 
wife  save  before  all  the  world.  A  man  who  will  not 
acknowledge  me  never  shall  possess  me." 

I  went  back  to  Sir  George  and  delivered  the  message 
word  for  word. 

"  She  is  a  strange,  strong  girl,  isn't  she,  Malcolm  ?"  said 
her  father. 

"  She  is  her  father's  child,"  I  replied. 

"By  my  spurs  she  is.  She  should  have  been  a  man," 
said  Sir  George,  with  a  twinkle  of  admiration  in  his  eyes. 
He  admired  a  good  fight  even  though  he  were  beaten  in  it. 


274  DOROTHY    VERNON 

It  is  easy  to  be  good  when  we  are  happy.  Dorothy, 
the  great  disturber,  was  both.  Therefore,  peace  reigned 
once  more  in  Haddon  Hall. 

Letters  frequently  passed  between  John  and  Dorothy 
by  the  hand  of  Jennie  Faxton,  but  John  made  no  attempt 
to  meet  his  sweetheart.  He  and  Dorothy  were  biding 
their  time. 

A  fortnight  passed  during  which  Cupid  confined  his 
operations  to  Madge  and  myself.  For  her  sweet  sake  he 
was  gracious  and  strewed  our  path  with  roses.  I  should 
delight  to  tell  you  of  our  wooing.  She  a  fair  young 
creature  of  eighteen,  I  a  palpitating  youth  of  thirty-five. 
I  should  love  to  tell  you  of  Madge's  promise  to  be  my 
wife,  and  of  the  announcement  in  the  Hall  of  our  be 
trothal;  but  there  was  little  of  interest  in  it  to  any  one  save 
ourselves,  and  I  fear  lest  you  should  find  it  very  sentimen 
tal  and  dull  indeed.  I  should  love  to  tell  you  also  of  the 
delightful  walks  which  Madge  and  I  took  together  along 
the  sweet  old  Wye  and  upon  the  crest  of  Bowling  Green ; 
but  above  all  would  I  love  to  tell  you  of  the  delicate  rose 
tints  that  came  to  her  cheek,  and  how  most  curiously  at 
times,  when  my  sweetheart's  health  was  bounding,  the 
blessed  light  of  day  would  penetrate  the  darkened  win 
dows  of  her  eyes,  and  how  upon  such  occasions  she  would 
cry  out  joyously,  "  Oh,  Malcolm,  I  can  dimly  see."  I  say  I 
should  love  to  tell  you  about  all  those  joyous  happenings, 
but  after  all  I  fear  I  should  shrink  from  doing  so  in  detail, 
for  the  feelings  and  sayings  of  our  own  hearts  are  sacred 
to  us.  It  is  much  easier  to  tell  of  the  love  affairs  of  others. 

A  fortnight  or  three  weeks  passed  quietly  in  Haddon 
Hall.  Sir  George  had  the  notion  firmly  fixed  in  his  head 
that  the  man  whom  Dorothy  had  been  meeting  held  honor 
able  intentions  toward  the  girl.  He  did  her  the  justice  to 
believe  that  by  reason  of  her  strength  and  purity  she 
would  tolerate  none  other.  At  times  he  felt  sure  that  the 


THE    LEICESTER    POSSIBILITY      275 

man  was  Leicester,  and  again  he  flouted  the  thought  as 
impossible.  If  it  were  Leicester,  and  if  he  wished  to  marry 
Dorothy,  Sir  George  thought  the  match  certainly  would  be 
illustrious.  Halting  between  the  questions,  "  Is  he  Leices 
ter  ?"  and  "Is  he  not  Leicester?"  Sir  George  did  not 
press  the  Stanley  nuptials,  nor  did  he  insist  upon  the 
signing  of  the  contract.  Dorothy  received  from  her  father 
full  permission  to  go  where  and  when  she  wished.  But 
her  father's  willingness  to  give  her  liberty  excited  her 
suspicions.  She  knew  he  would  permit  her  to  leave  the 
Hall  only  that  he  might  watch  her,  and,  if  possible,  entrap 
her  and  John.  Therefore,  she  rode  out  only  with  Madge 
and  me,  and  sought  no  opportunity  to  see  her  lover.  It 
may  be  that  her  passiveness  was  partly  due  to  the  fact  that 
she  knew  her  next  meeting  with  John  would  mean  farewell 
to  Haddon  Hall.  She  well  knew  she  was  void  of  resist 
ance  when  in  John's  hands.  And  his  letter  had  told  her 
frankly  what  he  would  expect  from  her  when  next  they 
should  meet.  She  was  eager  to  go  to  him ;  but  the  old 
habit  of  love  for  home  and  its  sweet  associations  and  her 
returning  affection  for  her  father,  now  that  he  was  kind  to 
her,  were  strong  cords  entwining  her  tender  heart,  which 
she  could  not  break  suddenly  even  for  the  sake  of  the 
greater  joy. 

One  day  Dorothy  received  from  John  a  letter  telling  her 
he  would  on  the  following  morning  start  for  the  Scottish 
border  with  the  purpose  of  meeting  the  queen  of  Scotland. 
A  plan  had  been  formed  among  Mary's  friends  in  Scotland 
to  rescue  her  from  Lochleven  Castle,  where  she  was  a 
prisoner,  and  to  bring  her  incognito  to  Rutland.  John  had 
been  chosen  to  escort  her  from  the  English  border  to  his 
father's  castle.  From  thence,  when  the  opportunity  should 
arise,  she  was  to  escape  to  France,  or  make  her  peace  with 
Elizabeth.  The  adventure  was  full  of  peril  both  for  her 
Scottish  and  English  friends.  The  Scottish  regent  Murray 


276  DOROTHY   VERNON 

surely  would  hang  all  the  conspirators  whom  he  might 
capture,  and  Elizabeth  would  probably  inflict  summary 
punishment  upon  any  of  her  subjects  whom  she  could 
convict  of  complicity  in  the  plot. 

In  connection  with  this  scheme  to  rescue  Mary  it  was 
said  there  was  also  another  conspiracy.  There  appeared 
to  be  a  plot  within  a  plot  which  had  for  its  end  the 
enthronement  of  Mary  in  Elizabeth's  stead. 

The  Rutlands  knew  nothing  of  this  subplot. 

Elizabeth  had  once  or  twice  expressed  sympathy  with 
her  Scottish  cousin.  She  had  said  in  John's  presence  that 
while  she  could  not  for  reasons  of  state  invite  Mary  to 
seek  refuge  in  England,  still  if  Mary  would  come  uninvited 
she  would  be  welcomed.  Therefore,  John  thought  he  was 
acting  in  accord  with  the  English  queen's  secret  wish  when 
he  went  to  Rutland  with  the  purpose  of  being  in  readiness 
to  meet  Mary  at  the  Scottish  border. 

There  were  two  elements  in  Elizabeth's  character  on 
which  John  had  not  counted.  One  was  her  royal  preroga 
tive  to  speak  words  she  did  not  mean ;  and  the  other 
was  the  universal  feminine  privilege  to  change  her  mind. 
Oiir  queen  did  not  want  Mary  to  visit  England,  nor  had 
she  any  knowledge  of  the  plot  to  induce  that  event.  She 
did,  however,  fear  that  Mary's  unwise  friends  among  the 
Catholics  cherished  the  purpose  of  making  Mary  queen  of 
England.  Although  John  had  heard  faint  rumors  of  such 
a  plot,  he  had  been  given  to  understand  that  Mary  had  no 
share  in  it,  and  he  believed  that  the  adventure  in  which  he 
was  about  to  embark  had  for  its  only  purpose  her  liberation 
from  a  cruel  and  unjust  imprisonment.  Her  cause  appealed 
to  John's  chivalrous  nature  as  it  appealed  to  so  many  other 
good  though  mistaken  men  who  sought  to  give  help  to  the 
Scottish  queen,  and  brought  only  grief  to  her  and  ruin  to 
themselves. 

Dorothy  had  heard  at  various  times  just  enough  of  these 


THE    LEICESTER    POSSIBILITY    277 

plots  to  fill  her  heart  with  alarm  when  she  learned  that 
John  was  about  to  be  engaged  in  them.  Her  trouble  was 
twofold.  She  feared  lest  personal  injury  or  death  might 
befall  John;  and  jealousy,  that  shame  of  love,  gnawed  at 
her  heart  despite  her  efforts  to  drive  it  away. 

"  Is  she  so  marvellously  beautiful  ? "  Dorothy  asked  of 
me  over  and  over  again,  referring  to  Mary  Stuart.  "  Is 
she  such  a  marvel  of  beauty  and  fascination  that  all  men 
fall  before  her  ?  " 

"That  usually  is  the  result,"  I  replied.  "I  have  never 
known  her  to  smile  upon  a  man  who  did  not  at  once 
respond  by  falling  upon  his  knees  to  her." 

My  reply  certainly  was  not  comforting. 

"  Ah,  then,  I  am  lost,"  she  responded,  with  a  tremulous 
sigh.  "Is  —  is  she  prone  to  smile  on  men  and  —  and  — 
to  grow  fond  of  them  ?  " 

"  I  should  say,  Dorothy,  that  both  the  smiling  and  the 
fondness  have  become  a  habit  with  her." 

"  Then  she  will  be  sure  to  choose  John  from  among  all 
men.  He  is  so  glorious  and  perfect  and  beautiful  that  she 
will  be  eager  to  —  to  —  O  God !  I  wish  he  had  not  gone  to 
fetch  her." 

"You  need  have  no  fear,"  I  said  reassuringly.  "While 
Mary  Stuart  is  marvellously  beautiful  and  fascinating,  there 
is  at  least  one  woman  who  excels  her.  Above  all,  that 
woman  is  pure  and  chaste." 

"  Who  is  she,  that  one  woman,  Malcolm  ?  Who  is 
she  ? "  asked  the  girl,  leaning  forward  in  her  chair  and 
looking  at  me  eagerly  with  burning  eyes. 

"  You  are  already  a  vain  girl,  Dorothy,  and  I  shall  not 
tell  you  who  that  one  woman  is,"  I  answered  laughingly. 

"  No,  no,  Malcolm,  I  am  not  vain  in  this  matter.  It  is 
of  too  great  moment  to  me  for  the  petty  vice  of  vanity  to 
have  any  part  in  it.  You  do  not  understand  me.  I  care 
not  for  my  beauty,  save  for  his  sake.  I  long  to  be  more 


278  DOROTHY    VERNON 

beautiful,  more  fascinating,  and  more  attractive  than  she 
—  than  any  woman  living  —  only  because  I  long  to  hold 
John  —  to  keep  him  from  her,  from  all  others.  I  have 
seen  so  little  of  the  world  that  I  must  be  sadly  lacking  in 
those  arts  which  please  men,  and  I  long  to  possess  the 
beauty  of  the  angels,  and  the  fascinations  of  Satan  that 
I  may  hold  John,  hold  him,  hold  him,  hold  him.  That  I 
may  hold  him  so  sure  and  fast  that  it  will  be  impossible 
for  him  to  break  from  me.  At  times,  I  almost  wish  he 
were  blind ;  then  he  could  see  no  other  woman.  Ah,  am 
I  not  a  wicked,  selfish  girl?  But  I  will  not  allow  myself 
to  become  jealous.  He  is  all  mine,  isn't  he,  Malcolm  ?  " 
She  spoke  with  nervous  energy,  and  tears  were  ready  to 
spring  from  her  eyes. 

"He  is  all  yours,  Dorothy,"  I  answered,  "all  yours,  as 
surely  as  that  death  will  some  day  come  to  all  of  us. 
Promise  me,  Dorothy,  that  you  will  never  again  allow  a 
jealous  thought  to  enter  your  heart.  You  have  no  cause 
for  jealousy,  nor  will  you  ever  have.  If  you  permit  that 
hateful  passion  to  take  possession  of  you,  it  will  bring  ruin 
in  its  wake." 

"It  was,  indeed,  foolish  in  me,"  cried  Dorothy,  spring 
ing  to  her  feet  and  clasping  her  hands  tightly;  "and  I 
promise  never  again  to  feel  jealousy.  Malcolm,  its  faintest 
touch  tears  and  gnaws  at  my  heart  and  racks  me  with 
agony.  But  I  will  drive  it  out  of  me.  Under  its  influ 
ence  I  am  not  responsible  for  my  acts.  It  would  quickly 
turn  me  mad.  I  promise,  oh,  I  swear,  that  I  never  will 
allow  it  to  come  to  me  again." 

Poor  Dorothy's  time  of  madness  was  not  far  distant  nor 
was  the  evil  that  was  to  follow  in  its  wake. 

John  in  writing  to  Dorothy  concerning  his  journey  to 
Scotland  had  unhesitatingly  intrusted  to  her  keeping  his 
honor,  and,  unwittingly,  his  life.  It  did  not  once  occur  to 
him  that  she  could,  under  any  conditions,  betray  him.  I 


THE    LEICESTER    POSSIBILITY    279 

trusted  her  as  John  did  until  I  saw  her  vivid  flash  of  burning 
jealousy.  But  by  the  light  of  that  flash  I  saw  that  should 
the  girl,  with  or  without  reason,  become  convinced  that 
Mary  Stuart  was  her  rival,  she  would  quickly  make  Derby 
shire  the  warmest  locality  in  Christendom,  and  John's  life 
might  pay  the  cost  of  her  folly.  Dorothy  would  brook  no 
rival  —  no,  not  for  a  single  hour.  Should  she  become  jeal 
ous  she  would  at  once  be  swept  beyond  the  influence  of 
reason  or  the  care  for  consequences.  It  were  safer  to 
arouse  a  sleeping  devil  than  Dorothy  Vernon's  jealousy. 
Now  about  the  time  of  John's  journey  to  the  Scottish 
border,  two  matters  of  importance  arose  at  Haddon  Hall. 
One  bore  directly  upon  Dorothy,  namely,  the  renewal  by 
the  Stanleys  of  their  suit  for  her  hand.  The  other  was 
the  announcement  by  the  queen  that  she  would  soon 
do  Sir  George  Vernon  the  honor  of  spending  a  fortnight 
under  the  roof  of  Haddon  Hall.  Each  event  was  of  great 
importance  to  the  King  of  the  Peak.  He  had  concluded 
that  Thomas,  the  man-servant,  was  not  the  Earl  of  Leices 
ter  in  disguise,  and  when  the  Earl  of  Derby  again  came 
forward  with  his  marriage  project,  Sir  George  fell  back 
into  his  old  hardness  toward  Dorothy,  and  she  prepared 
her  armament,  offensive  and  defensive,  for  instant  use 
if  need  should  arise.  I  again  began  my  machinations, 
since  I  can  call  my  double  dealing  by  no  other  name.  I 
induced  Dorothy  to  agree  to  meet  the  earl  and  his  son 
James.  Without  promising  positively  to  marry  Lord  Stan 
ley,  she,  at  my  suggestion,  led  her  father  to  believe  she  was 
ready  to  yield  to  his  wishes.  By  this  course  she  gained 
time  and  liberty,  and  kept  peace  with  her  father.  Since 
you  have  seen  the  evils  that  war  brought  to  Haddon,  you 
well  know  how  desirable  peace  was.  In  time  of  war  all 
Haddon  was  a  field  of  carnage  and  unrest.  In  time  of 
peace  the  dear  old  Hall  was  an  ideal  home.  I  persuaded 
Sir  George  not  to  insist  on  a  positive  promise  from  Dorothy, 


280  DOROTHY   VERNON 

and  I  advised  him  to  allow  her  yielding  mood  to  grow  upon 
her.  I  assured  him  evasively  that  she  would  eventually 
succumb  to  his  paternal  authority  and  love. 

What  an  inherent  love  we  all  have  for  meddling  in  the 
affairs  of  others,  and  what  a  delicious  zest  we  find  in  faith 
fully  applying  our  surplus  energies  to  business  that  is  not 
strictly  our  own !  I  had  become  a  part  of  the  Sir  George- 
Dorothy-John  affair,  and  I  was  like  the  man  who  caught 
the  bear :  I  could  not  loose  my  hold. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

PROUD  DAYS  FOR  THE  OLD  HALL 

F  course  the  queen's  approaching  visit  threw 
Haddon  Hall  into  a  frenzy  of  scrubbing  and  fur 
bishing.  Aunt  Dorothy  was  the  busiest  woman  in 
England.  Floors  were  newly  polished.  Draperies  were 
taken  down  and  were  carefully  washed  with  mysterious  con 
coctions  warranted  to  remove  dirt  without  injury  to  color. 
Superfine  wax  was  bought  in  great  boxes,  and  candles  were 
made  for  all  the  chandeliers  and  candelabra  in  the  house. 
Perfumed  oil  was  purchased  for  the  lamp  in  the  state  bed 
room.  Elizabeth,  by  the  way,  when  she  came,  did  not  like 
the  odor  of  the  oil,  and  with  an  oath  tossed  both  the  oil 
and  the  lamp  out  of  the  window.  The  fattest  sheep,  kine, 
and  hogs  were  chosen  from  the  flocks  and  were  brought  in 
to  be  stall-fed  in  such  numbers  that  one  might  have  sup 
posed  we  were  expecting  an  ogress  who  could  eat  an  ox  at 
a  meal.  Pipers  and  dancers  were  engaged,  and  a  merry 
fool  was  brought  down  from  London.  At  last  the  event 
ful  day  came  and  with  it  came  our  queen.  She  brought 
with  her  a  hundred  yeomen  of  her  guard  and  a  score  of 
ladies  and  gentlemen.  Among  the  latter  was  the  Earl  of 
Leicester,  who  was  the  queen's  prime  favorite. 

Prior  to  the  queen's  announcement  of  her  intention  to 
visit  Haddon  Sir  George  had,  with  Dorothy's  tacit  con 
sent,  fixed  a  day  upon  which  the  Earl  of  Derby  and  his 
son,  Lord  James,  should  be  received  at  the  Hall  for  the 

281 


282  DOROTHY    VERNON 

purpose  of  signing  the  marriage  contract.  Dorothy,  of 
course,  had  no  intention  of  signing  the  contract,  but  she 
put  off  the  evil  hour  of  refusal  as  far  as  possible,  hoping 
something  might  occur  in  the  meantime  to  help  her  out 
of  the  dilemma.  Something  did  occur  at  the  last  moment. 
I  am  eager  to  tell  you  about  it,  but  it  must  wait  its  turn. 
Truly  would  the  story  of  this  ingenious  girl's  life  make 
a  romance  if  it  were  written  by  a  poet.  In  her  Guinevere 
and  Elaine  were  moulded  into  one  person  with  the  tender 
ness,  purity,  and  fierceness  of  each. 

To  postpone  further  the  time  of  the  Stanley  visit,  Doro 
thy  suggested  that  the  betrothal  should  take  place  in  the 
presence  of  the  queen.  Sir  George  acquiesced,  and  in  his 
heart  grew  less  eager  for  the  Stanley  match  as  Doro 
thy  apparently  became  more  tractable.  He  was,  however, 
engaged  with  the  earl  to  an  extent  that  forbade  withdrawal, 
even  had  he  been  sure  that  he  wished  to  withdraw. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  speak  the  Earl  of  Leicester  was 
the  most  exalted  subject  of  the  realm.  He  was  ardently 
devoted  to  the  cause  of  the  ladies,  and,  although  he  had  fixed 
his  hope  on  Elizabeth  and  longed  for  a  seat  beside  her  on 
the  throne,  his  inflammable  heart  was  constantly  catching 
fire  from  other  eyes.  He,  of  course,  made  desperate  efforts 
to  conceal  these  manifold  conflagrations  from  the  queen, 
but  the  inflammable  tow  of  his  heart  was  always  bringing 
him  into  trouble  with  his  fiery  mistress. 

The  earl's  first  glance  toward  Dorothy  was  full  of  admi 
ration.  The  second  glance  was  full  of  conflagration.  The 
second  day  of  the  queen's  residence  in  Haddon  I  was 
astonished,  grieved,  and  angered  to  see  that  our  girl  had 
turned  her  powerful  batteries  upon  the  earl  with  the  evi 
dent  purpose  of  conquest.  At  times  her  long  lashes  would 
fall  before  him,  and  again  her  great  luminous  eyes  would 
open  wide,  shedding  a  soft  radiance  which  no  man  could 
withstand.  Once  I  saw  her  walking  alone  with  him  upon 


PROUD    DAYS    FOR    THE    OLD    HALL     283 

the  terrace.  Her  head  was  drooped  shamelessly,  and  the 
earl  was  ardent  though  restless,  being  fearful  of  the  queen. 
I  boiled  with  rage  against  Dorothy,  but  by  a  strong  effort 
I  did  not  boil  over  until  I  had  better  cause.  The  better 
cause  came  later. 

I  failed  to  tell  you  of  a  brief  conversation  which  occurred 
between  Sir  George  and  me  after  my  cousin  first  saw  the 
Earl  of  Leicester.  Sir  George  had  gallantly  led  the  queen 
to  her  apartments,  and  I  had  conducted  Leicester  and  sev 
eral  of  the  gentlemen  to  their  various  rooms.  Sir  George 
and  I  met  at  the  staircase  after  we  had  quitted  our 
guests. 

He  said:  "  Malcolm,  that  fellow  Thomas  whom  I  knocked 
in  the  head  looked  no  more  like  Leicester  than  I  do.  Why 
did  you  tell  me  there  was  resemblance  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  I  answered.  "  Perhaps  your  words 
suggested  the  thought  of  a  resemblance.  Perhaps  I  had 
lost  all  memory  of  Leicester's  features.  I  cannot  answer 
your  question." 

Then  an  expression  of  anger  came  to  Sir  George's  face, 
and  he  said  :  — 

"  I  believe  Dorothy  lied  to  me  when  she  said  that  the 
fellow  Thomas  was  of  noble  blood." 

The  next  day  a  servant  reported  that  Thomas  had  been 
seen  loitering  near  Bowling  Green  Gate,  and  Sir  George 
ordered  Dorothy  not  to  leave  the  Hall  without  his  per 
mission. 

Dorothy  replied  to  her  father's  command,  "  I  shall  obey 
you,  father." 

To  me  there  was  a  note  of  danger  in  her  voice.  Such 
docile  submissiveness  was  not  natural  to  the  girl.  Of 
course  all  appearance  of  harshness  toward  Dorothy  was 
suppressed  by  Sir  George  during  the  queen's  visit  to  the 
Hall.  In  truth,  he  had  no  reason  to  be  harsh,  for 
Dorothy  was  a  meek,  submissive,  and  obedient  daughter. 


284  DOROTHY    VERNON 

Her  meekness,  however,  as  you  may  well  surmise,  was  but 
the  forerunner  of  dire  rebellion. 

The  fourth  day  of  the  queen's  presence  at  Haddon  Hall 
was  the  one  appointed  for  the  visit  of  the  Stanleys,  and 
Sir  George  thought  to  make  a  great  event  of  the  betrothal 
by  having  the  queen  act  as  a  witness  to  the  marriage  con 
tract.  As  the  day  approached  Sir  George  became  thought 
ful,  while  Dorothy  grew  gleeful.  The  girl  was  frequently 
seen  with  Leicester,  and  Sir  George  could  not  help  noticing 
that  nobleman's  pronounced  admiration  for  his  daughter. 
These  exhibitions  of  gallantry  were  never  made  in  the 
presence  of  the  queen.  The  morning  of  the  day  when 
the  Stanleys  were  expected  Sir  George  called  me  to  his 
room  for  a  private  consultation.  The  old  gentleman  was 
in  a  state  of  excitement,  not  unmixed  with  perplexity  and 
trouble. 

He  said,  "  I  have  great  and  good  news  to  impart 
to  you,  Malcolm ;  yet  I  am  in  a  dilemma  growing  out 
of  it." 

"Tell  me  the  good  news  first,  Sir  George,"  I  replied. 
"The  dilemma  may  wait." 

"  Is  Doll  a  very  beautiful  girl  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  I  believe  she  is  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world," 
I  answered. 

"Good,  good,"  he  replied,  rubbing  his  hands.  "Is  she 
so  fascinating,  brilliant,  and  attractive,  think  you  —  of  course 
I  speak  in  jest  —  but  think  you  she  might  vie  with  the  court 
ladies  for  beauty,  and  think  you  she  might  attract  —  for  the 
sake  of  illustration  I  will  say  —  might  she  attract  a  man 
like  Leicester  ? " 

"  Unless  I  am  much  mistaken,"  I  answered,  "Leicester  is 
over  his  ears  in  love  with  the  girl  now." 

"  Ah,  do  you  believe  so,  Malcolm  ?  "  replied  Sir  George, 
laughing  and  slapping  his  thigh,  as  he  walked  to  and  fro 
across  the  room.  "  You  have  seen  so  much  of  that  sort  of 


PROUD    DAYS    FOR    THE    OLD    HALL     285 

thing  that  you  should  know  it  when  it  comes  under  your 
nose.     Eh,  Malcolm,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  should  suppose  that  any  one,  however  inexperienced 
in  such  matters,  could  easily  see  Leicester's  infatuation 
for  Dorothy.  If  you  wish  me  to  tell  you  what  I  really 
believe  —  " 

"  I  do,  I  do,"  interrupted  Sir  George. 

"I  should  say,"  I  continued,  "that  Dorothy  has  deliber 
ately  gone  in  for  conquest.  Leave  the  girl  to  herself,  Sir 
George.  She  can  conduct  the  campaign  without  help  from 
any  one.  She  understands  the  art  of  such  warfare  as  well 
as  if  she  were  a  veteran." 

"  Gad,  but  she  does,  but  she  does.  I  believe  she  could 
give  Venus  herself  some  good  points  in  the  matter.  But 
let  me  tell  you,  Malcolm,"  —  the  old  man  dropped  his 
voice  to  a  whisper, —  "  I  questioned  Doll  this  morning,  and 
she  confessed  that  Leicester  had  spoken  words  of  love  to 
her.  Would  it  not  be  a  great  match  for  our  house  ?  " 

He  said  "our  house,"  mind  you,  not  "our  Doll."  I  might 
call  his  condition  of  mind  patrimonial  selfishness.  Simple 
old  man!  He  did  not  know  that  words  of  love  are  not 
necessarily  words  of  marriage. 

"  Has  Leicester  spoken  to  you  ? "  I  asked  in  alarm  for 
John's  sake. 

"  No,  no,  he  has  not  spoken,"  returned  my  cousin ;  "  for 
that,  of  course,  he  must  have  the  queen's  consent.  But  he 
will  speak,  I  am  sure,  all  in  good  time,  Malcolm,  all  in  good 
time." 

"  How  about  the  Stanleys  ?  "  I  asked.  "  They  will  be 
here  this  afternoon." 

"That's  the  devil's  finger  in  the  matter,"  cried  Sir 
George.  "That's  where  my  dilemma  lies.  How  shall  I 
put  them  off,  and  still  retain  them  in  case  nothing  should 
come  from  Leicester?  Besides,  I  am  in  honor  bound  to 
the  earl." 


286  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  I  have  a  plan,"  I  replied.  "  You  carry  out  your  part 
of  the  agreement  with  the  earl,  but  let  Dorothy,  at  the 
last  moment,  refuse  to  give  her  consent.  Let  her  ask  for 
more  time,  on  the  plea  that  she  does  not  know  her  mind.  I 
will  suggest  to  her,  if  you  wish,  the  part  she  is  to  play ;  but 
I  will  conceal  from  her  the  fact  that  you  are  a  party  to  it." 

"No,"  said  the  old  man,  "that  would  be  bad  faith 
toward  the  earl."  After  a  pause  he  continued  doubt- 
ingly :  "  No,  do  not  speak  to  Doll.  I  believe  she  needs 
no  suggestions  in  the  matter.  I  fear  that  mischief  is  in 
her  mind  already.  Her  easy  acquiescence  in  my  wishes 
have  of  late  had  a  suspicious  appearance.  No,  don't 
speak  to  her,  Malcolm.  If  ever  there  lived  a  girl  who 
could  be  perverse  and  wilful  on  her  own  account,  without 
help  from  any  one,  it  is  my  girl  Doll.  God  bless  you,  man, 
if  she  but  knew  that  I  wanted  her  to  reject  Stanley,  she 
would  have  him  in  spite  of  hell  itself.  I  wonder  what  she 
means  by  her  docility  and  obedience?  No,  don't  speak  a 
word  to  her  on  the  subject.  Let  her  believe  I  am  serious 
regarding  this  marriage,  and  she  will  have  some  plan  of 
her  own  to  raise  the  devil.  I  have  been  expecting  signs 
of  it  every  day.  I  had  determined  not  to  bear  with  her 
perversity,  but  now  that  the  Leicester  possibility  has  come 
up  we'll  leave  Doll  to  work  out  her  own  salvation,  Mal 
colm.  Don't  interfere.  No  man  living  can  teach  that 
girl  a  new  trick  in  deviltry.  Gods,  Malcolm  !  I  am  curi 
ous  to  know  what  she  will  be  doing,  for  she  certainly  will 
be  doing  something  rather  than  sign  that  contract  of  be 
trothal." 

"  But  suppose  out  of  obedience  to  you  she  should  sign 
the  contract  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Malcolm,  you  don't  know  Doll,"  he  replied.  Then, 
after  a  pause,  "  Neither  do  I.  I  wish  she  were  well 
married." 

When  I  left  Sir  George,  I  found  Dorothy  in  close  con- 


PROUD    DAYS    FOR    THE    OLD    HALL     287 

sultation  with  the  queen  and  two  of  her  ladies.  I  heard 
the  name  of  Lord  James  Stanley  spoken  amid  suppressed 
laughter,  and  I  suspected  Dorothy  had  on  foot  some  prank 
touching  that  young  man,  to  which  her  Majesty  was  a 
party. 

After  dinner  the  Stanleys  came  a-wooing.  The  party 
consisted  of  father,  son,  and  four  retainers,  who  looked  as 
if  they  had  been  preserved  in  alcohol  for  the  occasion,  so 
red  were  their  faces. 

The  Earl  of  Derby  was  a  fine  old  gentleman  of  the  rural 
type.  His  noble  son  was  an  uncouth  rustic,  who  had  no 
thought  above  a  stable  boy  or  tavern  maid,  nor  any  ambition 
above  horse  trading.  His  attire  was  a  wonder  to  behold. 
He  wore  a  ruff  of  stupendous  proportions.  His  trunks 
were  so  puffed  out  and  preposterous  in  size  that  they  looked 
like  a  great  painted  knot  on  a  tree ;  and  the  many-colored 
splendors  of  his  sleeves,  his  hat,  his  hose,  and  his  shoes 
were  dazzling  to  the  eye.  Add  to  this  wondrous  raiment 
feet  and  hands  that  could  not  be  satisfactorily  disposed  of, 
and  an  unrest  of  manner  painful  to  behold,  and  you  may  pos 
sibly  conceive  the  grandiose  absurdity  of  Dorothy's  wooer. 
The  sight  of  him  almost  made  Sir  George  ill ;  and  his 
entrance  into  the  long  gallery,  where  the  queen  was  seated 
with  her  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  Sir  George  and  his 
friends  standing  about  her,  was  a  signal  for  laughter  in 
which  her  Majesty  openly  joined. 

I  shall  not  lead  you  through  the  tedious  ceremony  of 
presentation  and  introduction,  nor  shall  I  tell  you  of  the 
pompous  manner  in  which  one  of  the  earl's  retinue,  a 
lawyer,  read  the  marriage  contract.  The  fact  that  the 
contract  was  read  without  the  presence  of  Dorothy,  whom 
it  so  nearly  concerned,  was  significant  of  the  small  con 
sideration  wrhich  at  that  time  was  given  to  a  girl's  con 
sent.  When  all  was  ready  for  the  signing,  Dorothy  was 
summoned. 


288  DOROTHY    VERNON 

Sir  George  stood  beside  the  Stanleys,  and  his  nervous 
ness  was  painfully  apparent.  Two  servants  opened  the 
great  doors  at  the  end  of  the  long  gallery,  and  Dorothy, 
holding  up  the  skirt  of  her  gown,  bounded  into  the  room. 
She  kneeled  to  the  queen,  and  turned  toward  her  uncle 
Stanley  and  her  lover-cousin  with  a  low  bow.  Then  she 
courtesied  and  said  :  — 

"  Good  even,  uncle,  and  how  do  you  do,  cousin.  Have 
you  come  to  inspect  me,  and,  perchance,  to  buy  ? " 

Sir  George's  face  bore  an  expression  of  mingled  shame, 
wonder,  and  alarm,  and  the  queen  and  her  suite  laughed 
behind  their  fans. 

"  It  is  well,"  continued  Dorothy.  "  Here  am  I,  ready 
for  inspection."  Thereupon  she  began  to  disrobe  herself 
before  the  entire  company.  Leicester  laughed  outright, 
and  the  queen  and  her  ladies  suppressed  their  merriment 
for  a  moment,  and  then  sent  forth  peals  of  laughter  with 
out  restraint.  Sir  George  stepped  toward  the  girl  and 
raised  his  hand  warningly,  but  the  queen  interposed  :  — 

"Silence,  Sir  George,  I  command  you;"  and  Sir  George 
retreated  to  his  former  place  beside  the  Earl  of  Derby. 
Dorothy  first  removed  her  bodice,  showing  her  shoulders 
and  a  part  of  her  arms,  clothed  in  the  fashion  of  a  tavern 
maid. 

Leicester,  who  stood  by  me,  whispered,  "  God  never  made 
anything  more  beautiful  than  Mistress  Vernon's  arms." 

Sir  George  again  spoke  angrily,  "  Doll,  what  are  you 
doing  ? "  But  the  queen  by  a  wave  of  her  band  com 
manded  silence.  Then  the  girl  put  her  hands  behind  her, 
and  loosened  the  belt  which  held  her  skirt  in  place.  The 
skirt  fell  to  the  floor,  and  out  of  it  bounded  Dorothy  in 
the  short  gown  of  a  maid. 

"  You  will  be  better  able  to  judge  of  me  in  this  costume, 
cousin,"  said  Dorothy.  "  It  will  be  more  familiar  to  you 
than  the  gowns  which  ladies  wear." 


PROUD    DAYS    FOR    THE    OLD    HALL     289 

"  I  will  retract,"  said  Leicester,  whispering  to  me,  and 
gazing  ardently  at  Dorothy's  ankles.  "  God  has  made 
something  more  beautiful  than  Mistress  Vernon's  arms. 
By  Venus  !  I  suppose  that  in  His  omnipotence  He  might 
be  able  to  create  something  more  beautiful  than  her  ankles, 
but  up  to  this  time  He  has  not  vouchsafed  to  me  a  vision 
of  it.  Ah  !  did  any  one  ever  behold  such  strength,  such 
perfect  symmetry,  such  —  St.  George  !  the  gypsy  doesn't 
live  who  can  dance  like  that." 

Sure  enough,  Dorothy  was  dancing.  The  pipers  in  the 
balcony  had  burst  forth  in  a  ribald  jig  of  a  tune,  and  the 
girl  was  whirling  in  a  wild,  weird,  and  wondrous  dance 
before  her  lover-cousin.  Sir  George  ordered  the  pipers  to 
cease  playing ;  but  again  Elizabeth,  who  was  filled  with 
mirth,  interrupted,  and  the  music  pealed  forth  in  wanton 
volumes  which  flooded  the  gallery.  Dorothy  danced  like 
an  elfin  gypsy  to  the  inspiring  strains.  Soon  her  dance 
changed  to  wondrous  imitations  of  the  movements  of  a 
horse.  She  walked  sedately  around  in  an  ever  increasing 
circle  ;  she  trotted  and  paced  ;  she  gave  the  single  foot  and 
racked ;  she  galloped,  slowly  for  a  while,  and  then  the 
gallop  merged  into  a  furious  run  which  sent  the  blood  of 
her  audience  thrilling  through  their  veins  with  delight. 
The  wondrous  ease  and  grace,  and  the  marvellous  strength 
and  quickness  of  her  movements,  cannot  be  described.  I 
had  never  before  thought  the  human  body  capable  of  such 
grace  and  agility  as  she  displayed. 

After  her  dance  was  finished  she  stepped  in  front  of  her 
cousin  and  delivered  herself  as  follows  :  — 

"  I  am  sound  from  ear  tip  to  fetlock.  There  is  not  a 
blemish  in  me." 

"  No,  by  my  faith,  I  will  swear  there  is  not ! "  cried  the 
Earl  of  Leicester. 

"I  have  good  wind,"  continued  Dorothy,  "two  good 
eyes.  By  night  or  by  day  I  can  see  everything  within 


290  DOROTHY    VERNON 

the  range  of  my  vision,  and  a  great  deal  that  is  not.  I 
shy,  at  times,  when  an  uncouth  object  suddenly  comes 
upon  me.  I  am  warranted  gentle  if  properly  handled,  but 
otherwise  it  is  unsafe  to  curry  my  heels." 

Sir  George  could  no  longer  restrain  himself,  and  again 
tried  to  prevent  Dorothy  from  proceeding  with  her  terrible 
insult  to  the  Stanleys.  The  queen,  however,  was  deter 
mined  to  see  the  end  of  the  frolic,  and  she  said :  — 

"  Proceed,  Mistress  Vernon,  proceed." 

Dorothy,  nothing  loath,  continued  :  "  As  for  my  dispo 
sition,  it  might  be  better.  It  probably  will  improve  with 
age,  if  it  doesn't  grow  worse.  I  have  all  the  gaits  a  horse 
should  have.  I  am  four  years  old,  I  have  never  been 
trained  to  work  double,  and  I  think  I  never  shall  be.  What 
think  you  ?  Now  what  have  you  to  offer  in  exchange  ? 
Step  out  and  let  me  see  you  move." 

She  took  the  poor  youth  by  the  hand  and  led  him  to  the 
middle  of  the  floor. 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  Show  me  your  teeth,"  she  said. 
The  heir  to  Derby  smiled  uneasily,  and  drew  his  hand 
across  his  nose. 

"Ah,  you  have  a  touch  of  the  distemper,  I  see.  Are 
you  subject  to  it  ?  " 

Stanley  smiled,  and  the  earl  said  :  — 

"  Sir  George,  this  insult  has  gone  far  enough." 

"  Stand  back,  my  Lord  Derby,"  said  the  queen.  "  Do 
not  interfere  with  this  interesting  barter." 

The  earl  reluctantly  lapsed  into  silence.  He  remem 
bered  the  insult  of  her  Majesty's  words  all  his  life. 

"  Now  step  off,"  said  Dorothy  to  Lord  James. 

The  young  man  stood  in  helpless  confusion.  Dorothy 
took  a  step  backward  from  him,  and  after  watching  Stanley 
a  moment  said  :  — 

"  What !  You  can  neither  trot,  pace,  nor  gallop  ?  I 
don't  believe  you  can  even  walk  alone."  Then  she  turned 


PROUD    DAYS    FOR   THE    OLD    HALL     291 

toward  Sir  George.  A  smile  was  on  her  lips,  but  a  look 
from  hell  was  in  her  eyes  as  she  said  :  — 

"  Father,  take  a  lesson  from  this  day.  I  gave  you  fair 
warning.  Bring  me  no  more  scurvy  cobs  for  barter  nor 
trade."  Then  she  turned  to  the  Earl  of  Derby  and  to  her 
cousin  Lord  James,  made  a  deep  courtesy,  and  said  :  — 

"  You  can  have  no  barter  with  me.     Good  day." 

She  ran  from  the  room,  and  a  great  peal  of  laughter 
from  all  save  Sir  George  and  the  Stanleys  followed  her 
as  she  passed  out  through  the  double  door.  When  the 
laughter  had  subsided,  the  Earl  of  Derby  turned  to  Sir 
George  and  said  :  — 

"  Sir  George,  this  insult  is  unbearable,  and  I  shall  expect 
satisfaction  for  it."  Then  he  turned  to  the  queen  :  "  I  beg 
that  your  Majesty  will  give  me  leave  to  depart  with  my  son." 

"  Granted,"  answered  Elizabeth,  and  father  and  son 
started  to  leave  the  room,  moving  backward  toward  the 
great  doors.  Sir  George  asked  the  earl  and  Lord  Stanley 
to  remain,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  company  who  had 
witnessed  the  insult,  he  in  the  humblest  manner  made 
abject  apology  for  the  treatment  his  distinguished  guests 
had  received  at  the  hands  of  his  daughter.  He  very 
honestly  and  in  all  truth  disclaimed  any  sympathy  with 
Dorothy's  conduct,  and  offered,  as  the  only  reparation  he 
could  make,  to  punish  her  in  some  way  befitting  the 
offence.  Then  he  conducted  the  guests  to  the  mounting 
block  near  the  entrance  tower  and  saw  them  depart. 
Dorothy  had  solved  her  father's  dilemma  with  a  vengeance. 

Sir  George  was  not  sure  that  he  wanted  to  be  angry  at 
Dorothy,  though  he  felt  it  was  a  duty  he  owed  to  himself 
and  to  the  Stanleys.  He  had  wished  that  the  girl  would 
in  some  manner  defer  the  signing  of  the  contract,  but  he 
had  not  wanted  her  to  refuse  young  Stanley's  hand  in  a 
manner  so  insulting  that  the  match  would  be  broken  off 
altogether. 


292  DOROTHY    VERNON 

As  the  day  progressed,  and  as  Sir  George  ponderer 
over  Dorothy's  conduct,  he  grew  more  inclined  to  anger; 
but  during  the  afternoon  she  kept  well  under  the  queen's 
wing,  and  he  found  no  opportunity  to  give  vent  to  his 
ill-temper. 

Late  that  night  he  called  me  to  his  room.  He  had 
been  drinking  during  the  evening  and  was  poised  between 
good-humored  hilarity  and  ill-tempered  ferocity.  The 
latter  condition  was  usually  the  result  of  his  libations. 
When  I  entered  the  room  it  was  evident  he  was  amused. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  or  see  such  brazen  effrontery  ? " 
he  asked,  referring  to  Dorothy's  treatment  of  the  Stanleys. 
"  Is  there  another  girl  on  earth  who  would  have  conceived 
the  absurd  thought,  or,  having  conceived  it,  would  have 
dared  to  carry  it  out  ?  " 

I  took  a  chair  and  replied,  "  I  think  there  is  not 
another." 

"  I  hope  not,"  continued  Sir  George.  He  sat  in  thought 
for  a  moment,  and  then  broke  forth  into  a  great  laugh. 
When  he  had  finished  laughing  he  said  :  "  I  admit  it  was 
laughable  and  —  and  pretty  —  beautiful.  Damme,  I  didn't 
know  the  girl  could  do  it,  Malcolm  !  I  didn't  know  she  had 
it  in  her.  There  is  not  another  girl  living  could  have  carried 
the  frolic  through."  Then  he  spoke  seriously,  "  But  I  will 
make  her  smart  for  it  when  the  queen  leaves  Haddon." 

"  Sir  George,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  suggest  what  I  feel 
on  the  subject,  I  would  say  that  you  have  no  reason  what 
ever  for  desiring  to  make  Dorothy  smart.  She  may  have 
deeper  designs  than  we  can  see." 

"  What  designs  do  you  suppose  she  can  have  ?  Tell 
me,  Malcolm,"  asked  Sir  George. 

I  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  hardly  knowing  how  to 
express  my  thought.  "  Certainly  she  could  not  have  ap 
peared  to  a  better  advantage  than  in  her  tavern  maid's 
costume,"  I  said. 


PROUD    DAYS    FOR  THE    OLD    HALL     293 

"  That  is  true,"  answered  Sir  George.  "  Though  she 
is  my  own  daughter,  I  must  admit  that  I  have  never  seen 
any  woman  so  beautiful  as  she."  The  old  gentleman 
laughed  softly  for  a  moment  and  said :  "  But  wasn't  it 
brazen  ?  Wasn't  it  shameless  ?  I  have  always  given  the 
girl  credit  for  modesty,  but  —  damme,  damme  — 

"  Her  beauty  in  the  tavern  maid's  costume  fired  Leicester's 
heart  as  nothing  else  could  have  done,"  I  said.  "  He 
stood  by  my  side,  and  was  in  raptures  over  her  charms." 

Sir  George  mused  a  moment  and  said  something  about 
the  "  Leicester  possibility,"  which  I  knew  to  be  an  impos 
sibility,  and  before  I  left  him  he  had  determined  to  allow 
the  matter  to  drop  for  the  present.  "  I  am  making  a 
damned  pretty  mess  of  the  whole  affair,  I  fear,  Malcolm," 
he  said. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  be  clearing  it  up,  Sir  George,"  I 
responded. 

After  talking  over  some  arrangements  for  the  queen's 
entertainment,  I  said  good  night,  and  left  my  cousin  brood 
ing  over  as  complicated  a  problem  as  man  ever  tried  to 
solve. 

The  next  morning  I  told  Dorothy  how  her  father  felt 
with  respect  to  the  "  Leicester  possibility."  She  laughed 
and  said  :  — 

"  I  will  encourage  father  in  that  matter,  and,"  with  a 
saucy  twinkle  in  her  eye,  "  incidentally  I  will  not  discour 
age  my  proud  lord  of  Leicester.  I  will  make  the  most  of 
the  situation,  fear  not,  Malcolm." 

"  I  do  not  fear,"  said  I,  emphatically. 

There  it  was :  the  full-blown  spirit  of  conquest,  strong 
even  in  a  love-full  heart.  God  breathed  into  Adam  the 
breath  of  life ;  but  into  Eve  he  breathed  the  love  of  con 
quest,  and  it  has  been  growing  stronger  in  the  hearts  of 
her  daughters  with  each  recurring  generation. 

"  How  about  John  ?  "  I  asked. 


294  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Oh,  John  ? "  she  answered,  throwing  her  head  contem 
platively  to  one  side.  "  He  is  amply  able  to  protect  his 
own  interests.  I  could  not  be  really  untrue  to  him  if  I 
wished  to  be.  It  is  I  who  am  troubled  on  the  score  of  in 
fidelity.  John  will  be  with  the  most  beautiful  queen  —  " 
She  broke  off  in  the  midst  of  her  sentence,  and  her  face 
became  clouded  with  an  expression  of  anger  and  hatred. 
"  God  curse  her !  I  wish  she  were  dead,  dead,  dead. 
There  !  you  know  how  I  feel  toward  your  English-French- 
Scottish  beauty.  Curse  the  mongrel—  She  halted  before 
the  ugly  word  she  was  about  to  use  ;  but  her  eyes  were  like 
glowing  embers,  and  her  cheeks  were  flushed  by  the  heat 
of  anger. 

"  Did  you  not  promise  me,  Dorothy,  that  you  would  not 
again  allow  yourself  to  become  jealous  of  Queen  Mary  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  promised,  but  I  cannot  prevent  the  jealousy, 
and  I  do  not  intend  to  try.  I  hate  her,  and  I  love  to 
hate  her." 

"  Why  should  you  hate  her  ?  "  I  asked.  "  If  John  re 
mains  true  to  you,  there  is  certainly  no  cause  for  you  to 
hate  any  one.  If  he  should  be  untrue  to  you,  you  should 
hate  him." 

"  Hate  him  ?"  she  exclaimed.  "That,  indeed,  is  pretty 
reasoning.  If  he  should  be  untrue  to  me,  I  should  of  course 
hate  her.  I  could  not  hate  him.  I  did  not  make  myself 
love  him.  I  would  never  have  been  so  great  a  fool  as  to 
bring  that  pain  upon  myself  intentionally.  I  suppose  no 
girl  would  deliberately  make  herself  love  a  man  and  bring 
into  her  heart  so  great  an  agony.  I  feel  toward  John  as 
I  do,  because  I  must ;  and  I  hate  your  Scottish  mongrel 
because  I  must.  I  tell  you,  Malcolm,  when  she  comes  to 
Rutland,  if  I  hear  of  her  trying  any  of  her  wanton  tricks  on 
John  there  will  be  trouble  —  mark  my  words !  " 

"  I  ask  you  to  promise  me  this,  Dorothy :  that  you  will 


PROUD    DAYS    FOR  THE    OLD    HALL     295 

do  nothing  concerning  John  and  Queen  Mary  without  first 
speaking  to  me." 

She  paced  across  the  room  angrily.  "I  promise  you  noth 
ing,  Malcolm,  save  that  I  shall  not  allow  that  woman  to  come 
between  John  and  me.  That  I  promise  you,  on  my  oath." 

Dorothy  continued  to  shed  her  luminous  smiles  on  Leices 
ter,  though  she  was  careful  not  to  shine  in  the  queen's 
presence.  My  lord  was  dazzled  by  the  smiles,  and  contin 
ually  sought  opportunities  to  bask  in  their  dangerous  light. 
As  a  result  of  this  smiling  and  basking  the  great  London 
heart-breaker  was  soon  helplessly  caught  in  the  toils  of 
Doll,  the  country  maiden.  She  played  him  as  an  angler 
plays  a  trout.  The  most  experienced  court  coquette  could 
not  have  done  the  part  better  than  did  this  girl,  whose 
knowledge  of  the  subject  was  wholly  intuitive,  for  her  life 
had  all  been  spent  amid  the  green  hills  and  groves  of 
Derbyshire.  She  so  managed  the  affair  that  her  father 
should  see  enough  of  Leicester's  preference  to  keep  alive 
in  Sir  George's  mind  the  hope  for  the  "  Leicester  possi 
bility."  Those  words  had  become  with  her  a  phrase  slyly 
to  play  upon. 

One  afternoon  when  the  sun  was  graciously  warm  and 
bright,  I  induced  Madge  to  walk  with  me  upon  the  ter 
race,  that  I  might  for  a  few  moments  feel  the  touch  of  her 
hand  and  hear  her  whispered  words.  We  took  a  seat  by 
a  large  holly  bush,  which  effectually  concealed  us  from 
view.  We  had  been  there  but  a  few  moments  when 
we  heard  footsteps  approaching.  Looking  between  the 
branches  of  the  holly  bush  I  saw  Dorothy  and  Leicester 
coming  toward  us  from  the  north  end  of  the  terrace.  Doro 
thy's  eyes  were  cast  down  demurely,  and  her  head  hung 
in  the  attitude  of  a  shy,  modest  girl,  who  listens  timidly  to 
words  that  are  music  in  her  ears.  Never  have  I  seen  an 
attitude  more  indicative  of  the  receptive  mood  than  that 
which  Dorothy  assumed  toward  Leicester. 


296  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Ah,"  thought  I,  "  poor  John  has  given  his  heart  and 
has  risked  his  life  for  the  sake  of  Doll,  and  Doll  is  a  mis 
erable  coquette." 

But  there  was  conduct  still  more  objectionable  to  come 
from  Dorothy. 

Unconscious  of  our  presence,  Leicester  said,  "  My  fair 
beauty,  my  Venus,  here  is  a  settle  under  this  holly  bush, 
well  hidden  from  prying  eyes.  It  invites  us.  Will  you 
sit  here  with  me  for  one  happy  moment,  and  give  me  a 
taste  of  Paradise  ? " 

"  I  fear  I  should  not  sit  with  you,  my  lord,  however 
much  I  —  may  —  may  wish  to  do  so.  My  father  or  the 
queen  might  observe  us."  The  black  lashes  fell  upon  the 
fair  cheek,  and  the  red  golden  head  with  its  crown  of  glory 
hung  forward  convincingly. 

"You  false  jade,"  thought  I. 

"  I  ask  for  but  one  moment,"  pleaded  Leicester.  "  The 
queen  sleeps  at  this  time  after  dinner,  and  perhaps  your 
father  would  not  object  if  you  were  to  grant  this  little 
favor  to  the  first  nobleman  of  the  realm." 

"  You  do  not  know  my  father,  my  lord.  He  is  very 
strict  regarding  my  conduct,"  murmured  the  drooping  head. 

"  I  ask  for  but  one  little  moment,"  continued  the  earl, 
"  in  which  to  tell  you  that  you  have  filled  my  heart  with 
adoration  and  love." 

"  I  should  not  listen  to  you,  my  lord.  Were  I  mindful 
of  my  happiness,  I  should  return  to  the  Hall  at  once,"  said 
the  drooping  lashes  and  hanging  head. 

"  You  lying  wench,"  thought  I.  By  that  time  I  was 
thoroughly  angered. 

"  Only  one  little  moment  on  the  settle,"  pleaded  Leices 
ter,  "that  I  may  speak  to  you  that  which  I  wish  so  ar 
dently  to  say." 

"  Can  you  not  speak  while  we  walk,  my  lord  ? "  asked 
Dorothy. 


PROUD   DAYS    FOR   THE    OLD    HALL     297 

I  felt  a  bitter  desire  to  curse  the  girl. 

"  It  is  difficult  for  me  to  speak  while  we  walk,"  said 
Leicester,  cautiously  taking  the  girl's  hand;  so  she 
permitted  him  to  lead  her  to  the  settle  under  the  holly 
bush,  on  the  opposite  side  of  which  Madge  and  I  were 
sitting. 

The  earl  retained  the  hand  for  a  moment  after  he  and 
Dorothy  were  seated,  but  she  gently  drew  it  away  and 
moved  a  little  distance  from  his  Lordship.  Still,  her  eyes 
were  drooped,  her  head  hung  low,  and  her  bosom  actually 
heaved  as  if  with  emotion. 

"  I  will  tell  John  of  your  shamelessness,"  I  said  to  my 
self.  "  He  shall  feel  no  more  heartaches  for  you  —  you 
wanton  huzzy." 

Then  Leicester  poured  forth  his  passion  most  eloquently. 
Poesy,  verse,  and  rhetoric  all  came  to  help  him  in  his  woo 
ing.  Now  and  then  the  girl  would  respond  to  his  ardor 
with  "Please,  my  lord,"  or  "  I  pray  you,  my  lord,"  and 
when  he  would  try  to  take  her  hand  she  would  say,  "  I  beg 
you,  my  lord,  do  not."  But  Leicester  evidently  thought 
that  the  "do  not"  meant  "do,"  for  soon  he  began  to  steal 
his  arm  about  her  waist,  and  she  was  so  slow  in  stopping 
him  that  I  thought  she  was  going  to  submit.  She,  how 
ever,  arose  gently  to  her  feet  and  said  :  — 

"  My  lord,  I  must  return  to  the  Hall.  I  may  not  longer 
remain  here  with  you." 

The  earl  caught  her  hand  and  endeavored  to  kiss  it,  but 
she  adroitly  prevented  him,  and  stepping  out  into  the  path, 
started  slowly  toward  the  Hall.  She  turned  her  head 
slightly  toward  Leicester  in  a  mute  but  eloquent  invita 
tion,  and  he  quickly  followed  her. 

I  watched  the  pair  walk  up  the  terrace.  They  descended 
the  steps  to  the  garden,  and  from  thence  they  entered  the 
Hall  by  way  of  the  porch. 

"  Was  it  not  very  wicked  in  Dorothy  to  listen  to  such 


298  DOROTHY    VERNON 

words  from  Leicester?"  asked  Madge.  "I  do  not  at  all 
understand  her." 

Madge,  of  course,  knew  only  a  part  of  what  had  happened, 
and  a  very  small  part  at  that,  for  she  had  not  seen  Dorothy. 
Madge  and  I  returned  to  the  Hall,  and  we  went  at  once  to 
Dorothy's  room,  hoping  to  see  her,  and  intending  to  tell 
her  our  opinion  of  the  shameless  manner  in  which  she  had 
acted. 

Dorothy  was  in  her  room  alone  when  we  entered.  She 
clapped  her  hands,  ran  to  the  door,  bolted  it,  and  bounded 
back  toward  us. 

"  I  have  the  greatest  news  to  tell  you,"  she  cried  laugh 
ingly,  —  "  the  greatest  news  and  the  greatest  sport  of  which 
you  ever  heard.  My  lord  Leicester  is  in  love  with  me." 

"  Indeed,  that  is  very  fine,"  I  responded ;  but  my  irony 
met  its  usual  fate.  She  did  not  see  it. 

"Yes,"  continued  Dorothy,  brimming  over  with  mirth, 
"you  should  have  heard  him  pleading  with  me  a  few 
moments  since  upon  the  terrace." 

"We  did  hear  him,"  said  Madge. 

"  You  heard  him  ?  Where  ?  How  ? "  Her  eyes  were 
wide  with  wonder. 

"  We  were  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  holly  bush  from 
you,"  I  answered.  "We  heard  him  and  we  saw  you." 

"  Did  you  ?     Good.     I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Dorothy. 

"  Yes,  we  saw  and  we  heard  all,  and  we  think  that  your 
conduct  was  shameless,"  I  responded  severely. 

"  Shameless  ?  "  demanded  Dorothy.  "  Now  pray  tell  me 
what  I  did  or  said  that  was  shameless." 

I  was  at  a  loss  to  define  the  wrong  in  her  conduct,  for  it 
had  been  of  an  intangible  quality  which  in  itself  was  noth 
ing,  but  notwithstanding  meant  a  great  deal. 

"  You  permitted  him  to  hold  your  hand,"  I  said,  trying 
to  fix  on  something  real  with  which  to  accuse  her. 

"  I  did  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Dorothy,  laughingly. 


PROUD    DAYS    FOR   THE    OLD    HALL     299 

"  He  caught  my  hand  several  times,  but  I  withdrew  it  from 
him." 

I  knew  she  spoke  the  truth  regarding  her  hand,  so  I 
tried  again. 

"You  —  you  hung  your  head  and  kept  your  eyes  cast 
down,  and  you  looked  —  " 

"  Oh,  I  hung  my  head,  I  cast  down  my  eyes,  and  I 
looked  ?  "  she  answered,  laughing  heartily.  "  Pray  let  me 
ask  you,  Master  Fault-finder,  for  what  use  else  are  heads 
and  eyes  made  ?  " 

I  was  not  prepared  to  say  that  the  uses  to  which  Dorothy 
had  put  her  head  and  eyes  were  not  some  of  the  purposes 
for  which  they  were  created.  They  are  good  purposes, 
too,  I  admit,  although  I  would  not  have  conceded  as  much 
to  Dorothy.  I  knew  the  girl  would  soon  wheedle  me  into 
her  way  of  thinking,  so  I  took  a  bold  stand  and  said :  — 

"  It  is  my  intention  to  tell  John  about  your  conduct  with 
Leicester,  and  I  shall  learn  for  what  purpose  he  thinks 
eyes  and  heads  are  created." 

"  Tell  John  ?  "  cried  Dorothy.  "  Of  course  you  may  tell 
John.  He  well  knows  the  purposes  of  heads  and  eyes,  and 
their  proper  uses.  He  has  told  me  many  times  his  opinion 
on  the  subject."  She  laughed  for  a  moment,  and  then  con 
tinued  :  "I,  too,  shall  tell  John  all  that  happened  or  shall 
happen  between  Lord  Leicester  and  me.  I  wish  I  could  tell 
him  now.  How  I  wish  I  could  tell  him  now."  A  soft  light 
came  to  her  eyes,  and  she  repeated  huskily:  "If  I  might  tell 
him  now ;  if  I  might  tell  him  now.  Why,  Malcolm,  I  despise 
Leicester.  He  is  a  poor,  weak  fool.  He  has  no  more  force 
nor  strength  than  I  have.  He  is  not  a  man.  He  is  no  more 
attractive  than  a  woman.  He  wanted  to  kiss  me.  He  begged 
me  to  give  him  but  one.  It  is  but  a  poor  kiss  which  a  man 
gets  by  begging.  Think  you  I  would  give  him  one  ?  Had 
he  but  touched  my  lips,  think  you  I  would  ever  allow  John 
to  soil  himself  again  by  kissing  them  ?  Fear  not,  Malcolm. 


300  DOROTHY    VERNON 

Fear  not  for  John  nor  for  me.  No  man  will  ever  receive  from 
me  a  favor,  the  granting  of  which  would  make  me  unfit  to 
be  John's  —  John's  wife.  I  have  paid  too  dearly  for  him 
to  throw  him  away  for  a  penny  whistle  that  I  do  not  want." 
Then  she  grew  earnest,  with  a  touch  of  anger :  "  Leices 
ter  !  What  reason,  suppose  you,  Malcolm,  have  I  for  treat 
ing  him  as  I  do  ?  Think  you  I  act  from  sheer  wantonness  ? 
If  there  were  one  little  spot  of  that  fault  upon  my  soul,  I 
would  tear  myself  from  John,  though  I  should  die  for  it." 

Her  laughing  mood  had  passed  away,  and  I  feared  to 
say  that  I  could  see  no  reason  other  than  coquetry  for  her 
conduct.  I  feared  the  red-haired  tigress  would  scratch  my 
eyes  out. 

"I  have  wanted  to  see  you,"  she  continued,  "that  I 
might  tell  you  of  my  plans  and  of  the  way  they  are  work 
ing  out,  but  now  since  you  have  spoken  to  me  in  this  man 
ner,  Sir  Malcolm  Francois  de  Lorraine  Vernon,  I  shall  tell 
you  nothing.  You  suspect  me.  Therefore,  you  shall  wait 
with  the  rest  of  the  world  to  learn  my  purposes.  You  may 
tell  John  all  you  have  seen  and  heard.  I  care  not  how 
quickly  you  do  it."  Then  with  a  sigh  :  "  I  pray  God  it  may 
be  very  soon.  He  will  wish  for  no  explanation,  and  he  shall 
one  day  have  in  me  a  rich  reward  for  his  faith." 

"  Do  you  trust  him  as  he  trusts  you  ? "  I  asked,  "  and 
would  you  demand  an  explanation  were  he  to  act  toward 
Mary  Stuart  as  you  have  acted  toward  Leicester  ?  " 

"  He  could  not  act  toward  her  as  I  did  toward  Lord 
Leicester,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  Then  after  a  moment 
she  laughingly  continued  :  "John  can't  —  he  can't  hang 
his  head  and  —  droop  his  eyes  and  look." 

"But  if  —  "  I  began. 

"  I  want  no  more  of  your  hellish  'ifs,'  "  cried  the  girl  in 
sudden  fury.  "  If  John  were  to  —  to  look  at  that  Scottish 
mongrel  as  I  looked  at  Leicester,  I  would  —  I  would  kill 
the  royal  wanton.  I  would  kill  her  if  it  cost  my  life. 


PROUD    DAYS    FOR   THE    OLD    HALL     301 

Now,  for  God's  sake,  leave  me.  You  see  the  state  into 
which  you  have  wrought  me."  I  left  Madge  with  Dorothy 
and  walked  out  upon  Bowling  Green  to  ponder  on  the 
events  that  were  passing  before  me. 

From  the  time  we  learned  that  John  had  gone  to  fetch 
the  Scottish  queen  I  had  fears  lest  Dorothy's  inflammable 
jealousy  might  cause  trouble,  and  now  those  fears  were 
rapidly  transforming  themselves  into  a  feeling  of  certainty. 
There  is  nothing  in  life  so  sweet  and  so  dangerous  as  the 
love  of  a  hot-blooded  woman. 

I  soon  saw  Dorothy  again.  "Tell  me,"  said 'I,  in  con 
ciliation,  "  tell  me,  please,  what  is  your  reason  for  acting 
as  you  do  toward  Leicester,  and  why  should  you  look  dif 
ferently  upon  similar  conduct  on  John's  part?" 

"I  will  not  tell  you  my  plans,"  she  responded, — "not 
now,  at  least.  Perhaps  I  shall  do  so  when  I  have  recovered 
from  my  ill-temper.  It  is  hard  for  me  to  give  my  reasons 
for  feeling  differently  about  like  conduct  on  John's  part. 
Perhaps  I  feel  as  I  do  because — because —  It  is  this  way: 
While  I  might  do  little  things  —  mere  nothings  —  such  as 
I  have  done  —  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  do  any  act 
of  unfaithfulness  to  John.  Oh,  it  could  not  be.  But  with 
him,  he  —  he  —  well,  he  is  a  man  and  —  and  —  oh,  don't 
talk  to  me  !  Don't  talk  to  me !  You  are  driving  me  mad. 
Out  of  my  sight !  Out  of  my  room!  Holy  Virgin  !  I  shall 
die  before  I  have  him;  I  know  I  shall." 

There  it  was  again.  The  thought  of  Mary  Stuart  drove 
her  wild.  Dorothy  threw  herself  on  her  face  upon  the  bed, 
and  Madge  went  over  and  sat  by  her  side  to  soothe  her. 
I,  with  a  feeling  of  guilt,  so  adroit  had  been  Dorothy's 
defence,  left  the  girls  and  went  to  my  room  in  the  tower  to 
unravel,  by  the  help  of  my  pipe,  the  tangled  web  of  woman's 
incomprehensibility.  I  failed,  as  many  another  man  had 
failed  before  me,  and  as  men  will  continue  to  fail  to  the 
end  of  time. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MARY  STUART 

AND  now  I  come  to  an  event  in  this  history  which  I 
find  difficult  to  place  before  you  in  its  true  light. 
For  Dorothy's  sake  I  wish  I  might  omit  it  alto 
gether.     But  in  true  justice  to  her  and  for  the  purpose  of 
making  you  see  clearly  the  enormity  of  her  fault  and  the 
palliating  excuses  therefor,  if  any  there  were,  I  shall  pause 
briefly  to  show  the  condition  of  affairs  at  the  time  of  which 
I  am  about  to  write — a  time  when   Dorothy's  madness 
brought  us  to  the  most  terrible  straits  and  plunged  us  into 
deepest  tribulations. 

Although  I  have  been  unable  to  show  you  as  much  of 
John  as  I  have  wished  you  to  see,  you  nevertheless  must 
know  that  he,  whose  nature  was  not  like  the  shallow  brook 
but  was  rather  of  the  quality  of  a  deep,  slow-moving  river, 
had  caught  from  Dorothy  an  infection  of  love  from  which 
he  would  never  recover.  His  soul  was  steeped  in  the  deli 
cious  essence  of  the  girl.  I  would  also  call  your  attention 
to  the  conditions  under  which  his  passion  for  Dorothy  had 
arisen.  It  is  true  he  received  the  shaft  when  first  he  saw 
her  at  the  Royal  Arms  in  Derby-town,  but  the  shaft  had 
come  from  Dorothy's  eyes.  Afterward  she  certainly  had 
done  her  full  part  in  the  wooing.  It  was  for  her  sake, 
after  she  had  drawn  him  on  to  love  her,  that  he  became 
a  servant  in  Haddon  Hall.  For  her  sake  he  faced  death 
at  the  hands  of  her  father.  And  it  was  through  her  mad 

302 


MARY    STUART  303 

fault  that  the  evil  came  upon  him  of  which  I  shall  now  tell 
you.  That  she  paid  for  her  fault  in  suffering  does  not  ex 
cuse  her,  since  pain  is  but  the  latter  half  of  evil. 

During  the  term  of  Elizabeth's  residence  in  Haddon 
Hall  John  returned  to  Rutland  with  Queen  Mary  Stuart, 
whose  escape  from  Lochleven  had  excited  all  England. 
The  country  was  full  of  rumors  that  Mary  was  coming  to 
England  not  so  much  for  sanctuary  as  to  be  on  the  ground 
ready  to  accept  the  English  crown  when  her  opportunity 
to  do  so  should  occur.  The  Catholics,  a  large  and  power 
ful  party,  flushed  with  their  triumphs  under  the  "  Bloody 
Queen,"  were  believed  to  sympathize  with  Mary's  cause. 
Although  Elizabeth  said  little  on  the  subject,  she  felt 
deeply,  and  she  feared  trouble  should  the  Scottish  queen 
enter  her  dominion.  Another  cause  of  annoyance  to  Eliza 
beth  was  the  memory  that  Leicester  had  once  been  deeply 
impressed  with  Mary's  charms,  and  had  sought  her  hand 
in  marriage.  Elizabeth's  prohibition  alone  had  prevented 
the  match.  That  thought  rankled  in  Elizabeth's  heart, 
and  she  hated  Mary,  although  her  hatred,  as  in  all  other 
cases,  was  tempered  with  justice  and  mercy.  This  great 
queen  had  the  brain  of  a  man  with  its  motives,  and  the 
heart  of  a  woman  with  its  emotions. 

When  news  of  Mary's  escape  reached  London,  Cecil 
came  in  great  haste  to  Haddon.  During  a  consultation 
with  Elizabeth  he  advised  her  to  seize  Mary,  should  she 
enter  England,  and  to  check  the  plots  made  in  Mary's 
behalf  by  executing  the  principal  friends  of  the  Scottish 
queen.  He  insistently  demanded  that  Elizabeth  should 
keep  Mary  under  lock  and  key,  should  she  be  so  fortunate 
as  to  obtain  possession  of  her  person,  and  that  the  men 
who  were  instrumental  in  bringing  her  into  England  should 
be  arraigned  for  high  treason. 

John  certainly  had  been  instrumental  in  bringing  her 
into  England,  and  if  Cecil's  advice  were  taken  by  the 


304  DOROTHY    VERNON 

queen,  John's  head  would  pay  the  forfeit  for  his  chivalric 
help  to  Mary. 

Elizabeth  was  loath  to  act  on  this  advice,  but  Cecil  worked 
upon  her  fears  and  jealousies  until  her  mind  and  her  heart 
were  in  accord,  and  she  gave  secret  orders  that  his  advice 
should  be  carried  out.  Troops  were  sent  to  the  Scottish 
border  to  watch  for  the  coming  of  the  fugitive  queen.  But 
Mary  was  already  ensconced,  safely,  as  she  thought,  in 
Rutland  Castle  under  the  assumed  name  of  Lady  Blanche. 
Her  presence  at  Rutland  was,  of  course,  guarded  as  a  great 
secret. 

Dorothy's  mind  dwelt  frequently  upon  the  fact  that  John 
and  the  beautiful  young  Scottish  queen  lived  under  the 
same  roof,  for  John  had  written  to  Dorothy  immediately 
after  his  return.  Nothing  so  propagates  itself  as  jealousy. 
There  were  in  Haddon  Hall  two  hearts  in  which  this  self- 
propagating  process  was  rapidly  progressing  —  Elizabeth's 
and  Dorothy's.  Each  had  for  the  cause  of  her  jealousy 
the  same  woman. 

One  night,  soon  after  Cecil  had  obtained  from  Elizabeth 
the  order  for  Mary's  arrest,  Dorothy,  on  retiring  to  her 
room  at  a  late  hour  found  Jennie  Faxton  waiting  for 
her  with  a  precious  letter  from  John.  Dorothy  drank 
in  the  tenderness  of  John's  letter  as  the  thirsty  earth 
absorbs  the  rain ;  but  her  joy  was  neutralized  by  frequent 
references  to  the  woman  whom  she  feared  might  become 
her  rival.  One-half  of  what  she  feared,  she  was  sure  had 
been  accomplished  :  that  is,  Mary's  half.  She  knew  in  her 
heart  that  the  young  queen  would  certainly  grow  fond  of 
John.  That  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  No  woman  could 
be  with  him  and  escape  that  fate,  thought  Dorothy.  Her 
hope  as  to  the  other  half  —  John's  part  —  rested  solely 
upon  her  faith  in  John,  which  was  really  great,  and  her 
confidence  in  her  own  charms  and  in  her  own  power  to  hold 
him,  which  in  truth,  and  with  good  reason,  was  not  small. 


MARY    STUART  305 

Dorothy  went  to  bed,  and  Jennie,  following  her  usual 
custom,  when  at  Haddon,  lay  upon  the  floor  in  the  same 
room.  John's  letter,  with  all  its  tenderness,  had  thrown 
Dorothy  into  an  inquisitive  frame  of  mind.  After  an  hour 
or  two  of  restless  tossing  upon  the  bed  she  fell  asleep,  but 
soon  after  midnight  she  awakened,  and  in  her  drowsy 
condition  the  devil  himself  played  upon  the  strings  of  her 
dream-charged  imagination.  After  a  time  she  sprang 
from  the  bed,  lighted  a  candle  at  the  rushlight,  and  read 
John's  letter  in  a  tremor  of  dream-wrought  fear.  Then 
she  aroused  Jennie  Faxton  and  asked :  — 

"  When  were  you  at  Rutland  ?  " 

"  I  spent  yesterday  and  to-day  there,  mistress,"  answered 
Jennie. 

"  Did  you  see  a  strange  lady  ?  "  asked  Dorothy. 

"  Oh,  yes,  mistress,  I  did  see  her  three  or  four  times," 
answered  Jennie.  "  Lady  Blanche  is  her  name,  and  she 
be  a  cousin  of  Sir  John's.  She  do  come,  they  say,  from 
France,  and  do  speak  only  in  the  tongue  of  that  country." 

"I  —  I  suppose  that  this — this  Lady  Blanche  and  —  and 
Sir  John  are  very  good  friends  ?  Did  you  —  did  you  — 
often  see  them  together  ?  "  asked  Dorothy.  She  felt  guilty 
in  questioning  Jennie  for  the  purpose  of  spying  upon  her 
lover.  She  knew  that  John  would  not  pry  into  her  conduct. 

"  Indeed,  yes,  mistress,"  returned  Jennie,  who  admired 
John  greatly  from  her  lowly  sphere,  and  who  for  her  own 
sake  as  well  as  Dorothy's  was  jealous  of  Queen  Mary. 
"  They  do  walk  together  a  great  deal  on  the  ramparts, 
and  the  white  snaky  lady  do  look  up  into  Sir  John's  face 
like  this "  —  here  Jennie  assumed  a  lovelorn  expression. 
"And  —  and  once,  mistress,  I  thought  —  I  thought  — 

"  Yes,  yes,  Jesu  !  "  hissed  Dorothy,  clutching  Jennie  by 
the  arm,  "  you  thought,  you  thought.  Tell  me !  Tell 
me  !  What  in  hell's  name  did  you  think  ?  Speak  quickly, 
wench." 


306  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  I  be  not  sure,  mistress,  but  I  thought  I  saw  his  arm 
about  her  waist  one  evening  on  the  ramparts.  It  was  dark, 
and  for  sure  I  could  not  tell,  but  — " 

"God's  curse  upon  the  white  huzzy !"  screamed  Doro 
thy.  "  God's  curse  upon  her  !  She  is  stealing  him  from 
me,  and  I  am  helpless." 

She  clasped  her  hands  over  the  top  of  her  head  and  ran 
to  and  fro  across  the  room  uttering  inarticulate  cries  of 
agony.  Then  she  sat  upon  the  bedside  and  threw  herself 
into  Madge's  arms,  crying  under  her  breath :  "  My  God  ! 
My  God  !  Think  of  it,  Madge.  I  have  given  him  my 
heart,  my  soul,  O  merciful  God,  my  love  —  all  that  I  have 
worth  giving,  and  now  comes  this  white  wretch,  and  be 
cause  she  is  a  queen  and  was  sired  in  hell  she  tries  to  steal 
him  from  me  and  coaxes  him  to  put  his  arm  around  her 
waist." 

"  Don't  feel  that  way  about  it,  Dorothy,"  said  Madge, 
soothingly.  "  I  know  Sir  John  can  explain  it  all  to  you 
when  you  see  him.  He  is  true  to  you,  I  am  sure." 

"  True  to  me,  Madge !  How  can  he  be  true  to  me  if 
she  coaxes  him  to  woo  her  and  if  he  puts  his  arm  —  I  am 
losing  him;  I  know  it.  I  —  I  —  O  God,  Madge,  I  am 
smothering;  I  am  strangling!  Holy  Virgin!  I  believe 
I  am  about  to  die."  She  threw  herself  upon  the  bed  by 
Madge's  side,  clutching  her  throat  and  breast,  and  her 
grand  woman's  form  tossed  and  struggled  as  if  she  were  in 
convulsions. 

"Holy  mother!"  she  cried,  "take  this  frightful  agony 
from  my  breast.  Snatch  this  terrible  love  from  my 
heart.  God  !  If  you  have  pity,  give  it  now.  Help  me  ! 
Help  me !  Ah,  how  deeply  I  love.  I  never  loved  him 
so  much  as  I  do  at  this  awful  moment.  Save  me 
from  doing  that  which  is  in  my  heart.  If  I  could  have 
him  for  only  one  little  portion  of  a  minute.  But  that  is 
denied  me  whose  right  it  is,  and  is  given  to  her  who  has 


MARY    STUART  307 

no  right.  Ah,  God  is  not  just.  If  he  were  he  would  strike 
her  dead.  I  hate  her  and  I  hate  —  hate  him." 

She  arose  to  a  sitting  posture  on  the  edge  of  the  bed 
and  held  out  her  arms  toward  Madge. 

"  Madge,"  she  continued,  frenzied  by  the  thought, 
"  his  arm  was  around  her  waist.  That  was  early  in  the 
evening.  Holy  Virgin  !  What  may  be  happening  now  ?  " 

Dorothy  sprang  from  the  bed  and  staggered  about  the 
room  with  her  hands  upon  her  throbbing  temples. 

"  I  cannot  bear  this  agony.  God  give  me  strength." 
Soon  she  began  to  gasp  for  breath.  "  I  can — see — them 
now — together,  together.  I  hate  her;  I  hate  him.  My  love 
has  turned  bitter.  What  can  I  do?  What  can  I  do?  I  will 
do  it.  I  will.  I  will  disturb  their  sweet  rest.  If  I  cannot 
have  him,  she  shall  not.  I'll  tell  the  queen,  I'll  tell  the 
queen." 

Dorothy  acted  on  her  resolution  the  moment  it  was 
taken,  and  at  once  began  to  unbolt  the  door. 

"  Stay,  Dorothy,  stay  !  "  cried  Madge.  "  Think  on  what 
you  are  about  to  do.  It  will  cost  John  his  life.  Come  to 
me  for  one  moment,  Dorothy,  I  pray  you."  Madge  arose 
from  the  bed  and  began  groping  her  way  toward  Dorothy, 
who  was  unbolting  the  door. 

Madge  could  have  calmed  the  tempest-tossed  sea  as 
easily  as  she  could  have  induced  Dorothy  to  pause  in  her 
mad  frenzy.  Jennie  Faxton,  almost  paralyzed  by  fear  of 
the  storm  she  had  raised,  stood  in  the  corner  of  the  room 
trembling  and  speechless.  Dorothy  was  out  of  the  room 
before  poor  blind  Madge  could  reach  her.  The  frenzied  girl 
was  dressed  only  in  her  night  robes  and  her  glorious  hair 
hung  dishevelled  down  to  her  waist.  She  ran  through  the 
rooms  of  Lady  Crawford  and  those  occupied  by  her  father 
and  the  retainers.  Then  she  sped  down  the  long  gallery 
and  up  the  steps  to  Elizabeth's  apartment. 

She  knocked  violently  at  the  queen's  door. 


308  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"Who  comes?"  demanded  one  of  her  Majesty's  ladies. 

"  I,  Dorothy,"  was  the  response.  "  I  wish  to  speak  to  her 
Majesty  at  once  upon  a  matter  of  great  importance  to  her." 

Elizabeth  ordered  her  ladies  to  admit  Dorothy,  and  the 
girl  ran  to  the  queen,  who  had  half  arisen  in  her  bed. 

"  You  must  have  affairs  of  great  moment,  indeed,"  cried 
Elizabeth,  testily,  "  if  they  induce  you  to  disturb  me  in 
this  manner." 

"  Of  great  moment,  indeed,  your  Majesty,"  replied  Doro 
thy,  endeavoring  to  be  calm,  "  of  moment  to  you  and  to  me. 
Mary  Stuart  is  in  England  at  this  instant  trying  to  steal 
your  crown  and  my  lover.  She  is  now  sleeping  within  five 
leagues  of  this  place.  God  only  knows  what  she  is  doing. 
Let  us  waste  no  time,  your  Majesty." 

The  girl  was  growing  wilder  every  second. 

"  Let  us  go — you  and  I — and  seize  this  wanton  creature. 
You  to  save  your  crown;  I  to  save  my  lover  and  —  my 
life." 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  demanded  Elizabeth,  sharply.  "  Cease 
prattling  about  your  lover.  She  would  steal  both  my  lover 
and  my  crown  if  she  could.  Where  is  she  ?  " 

"She  is  at  Rutland  Castle,  your  Majesty,"  answered 
Dorothy. 

"  Ah,  the  Duke  of  Rutland  and  his  son  John,"  said  Eliza 
beth.  "  I  have  been  warned  of  them.  Send  for  my  Lord 
Cecil  and  Sir  William  St.  Loe." 

Sir  William  was  in  command  of  the  yeoman  guards. 

"  Is  Sir  John  Manners  your  lover  ? "  asked  Elizabeth, 
turning  to  Dorothy. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  girl. 

"You  may  soon  seek  another,"  replied  the  queen, 
significantly. 

Her  Majesty's  words  seemed  to  awaken  Dorothy  from 
her  stupor  of  frenzy,  and  she  foresaw  the  result  of  her  act. 
Then  came  upon  her  a  reaction  worse  than  death. 


MARY    STUART  309 

"  You  may  depart,"  said  the  queen  to  Dorothy,  and  the 
girl  went  back  to  her  room  hardly  conscious  that  she  was 
moving. 

At  times  we  cannot  help  feeling  that  love  came  to  the 
human  breast  through  a  drop  of  venom  shot  from  the  ser 
pent's  tongue  into  the  heart  of  Eve.  Again  we  believe  it 
to  be  a  spark  from  God's  own  soul.  Who  will  solve  me 
this  riddle  ? 

Soon  the  hard,  cold  ringing  of  arms,  and  the  tramp  of 
mailed  feet  resounded  through  Haddon  Hall,  and  the  doom- 
like  din  reached  Dorothy's  room  in  the  tones  of  a  clanging 
knell.  There  seemed  to  be  a  frightful  rhythm  in  the  chaos 
of  sounds  which  repeated  over  and  over  again  the  words : 
"John  will  die,  John  will  die,"  though  the  full  import  of 
her  act  and  its  results  did  nor  for  a  little  time  en 
tirely  penetrate  her  consciousness.  She  remembered  the 
queen's  words,  "You  may  soon  seek  another."  Elizabeth 
plainly  meant  that  John  was  a  traitor,  and  that  John  would 
die  for  his  treason.  The  clanking  words,  "John  will  die, 
John  will  die,"  bore  upon  the  girl's  ears  in  ever  increasing 
volume  until  the  agony  she  suffered  deadened  her  power 
to  think.  She  wandered  aimlessly  about  the  room,  trying 
to  collect  her  senses,  but  her  mind  was  a  blank.  After  a 
few  minutes  she  ran  back  to  the  queen,  having  an  unde 
fined  purpose  of  doing  something  to  avert  the  consequences 
of  her  mad  act.  She  at  first  thought  to  tell  the  queen  that 
the  information  she  had  given  concerning  Mary  Stuart's 
presence  in  Rutland  was  false,  but  she  well  knew  that  a  lie 
seldom  succeeds ;  and  in  this  case,  even  through  her  clouded 
mentality,  she  could  see  that  a  lie  would  surely  fail.  She 
determined  to  beg  the  queen  to  spare  John's  life.  She  did 
not  know  exactly  what  she  would  do,  but  she  hoped  by  the 
time  she  should  reach  the  queen's  room  to  hit  upon  some 
plan  that  would  save  him.  When  she  knocked  at  Eliza 
beth's  door  it  was  locked  against  her.  Her  Majesty 


310  DOROTHY    VERNON 

was  in  consultation  with  Cecil,  Sir  William  St.  Loe,  and 
a  few  other  gentlemen,  among  whom  was  Sir  George 
Vernon. 

Dorothy  well  knew  there  was  no  help  for  John  if  her 
father  were  of  the  queen's  council.  She  insisted  upon  see 
ing  the  queen,  but  was  rudely  repulsed.  By  the  time  she 
again  reached  her  room  full  consciousness  had  returned, 
and  agony  such  as  she  had  never  before  dreamed  of  over 
whelmed  her  soul.  Many  of  us  have  felt  the  same  sort  of 
pain  when  awakened  suddenly  to  the  fact  that  words  we 
have  spoken  easily  may  not,  by  our  utmost  efforts,  be 
recalled,  though  we  would  gladly  give  our  life  itself  to  have 
them  back.  If  suffering  can  atone  for  sin,  Dorothy  bought 
her  indulgence  within  one  hour  after  sinning.  But  suffer 
ing  cannot  atone  for  sin  ;  it  is  only  a  part  of  it  —  the 
result. 

"Arise,  Madge,  and  dress,"  said  Dorothy,  gently.  "I 
have  made  a  terrible  mistake.  I  have  committed  a  fright 
ful  crime.  I  have  betrayed  John  to  death.  Ah,  help  me, 
Madge,  if  you  can.  Pray  God  to  help  me.  He  will  listen 
to  you.  I  fear  to  pray  to  Him.  He  would  turn  my 
prayers  to  curses.  I  am  lost."  She  fell  for  a  moment 
upon  the  bed  and  placed  her  head  on  Madge's  breast  mur 
muring,  "  If  I  could  but  die." 

"  All  may  turn  out  better  than  it  now  appears,"  said 
Madge.  "  Quiet  yourself  and  let  us  consider  what  may  be 
done  to  arrest  the  evil  of  your  —  your  act." 

"  Nothing  can  be  done,  nothing,"  wailed  Dorothy,  as 
she  arose  from  the  bed  and  began  to  dress.  "  Please 
arise,  Madge,  and  dress  yourself.  Here  are  your  garments 
and  your  gown." 

They  hastily  dressed  without  speaking,  and  Dorothy 
began  again  to  pace  the  floor. 

"  He  will  die  hating  me,"  said  Dorothy.  "  If  he  could 
live  I  willingly  would  give  him  to  the  —  the  Scottish 


MARY    STUART  311 

woman.  Then  I  could  die  and  my  suffering  would  cease. 
I  must  have  been  mad  when  I  went  to  the  queen.  He 
trusted  me  with  his  honor  and  his  life,  and  I,  traitress  that 
I  am,  have  betrayed  both.  Ah,  well,  when  he  dies  I  also 
shall  die.  There  is  comfort  at  least  in  that  thought.  How 
helpless  I  am." 

She  could  not  weep.  It  seemed  as  if  there  were  not  a 
tear  in  her.  All  was  hard,  dry,  burning  agony.  She 
again  fell  upon  the  bed  and  moaned  piteously  for  a  little 
time,  wringing  her  hands  and  uttering  frantic  ejaculatory 
prayers  for  help. 

"  My  mind  seems  to  have  forsaken  me,"  she  said 
hoarsely  to  Madge.  "  I  cannot  think.  What  noise  is 
that?" 

She  paused  and  listened  for  a  moment.  Then  she  went 
to  the  north  window  and  opened  the  casement. 

"The  yeoman  guards  from  Bakewell  are  coming,"  she 
said.  "  I  recognize  them  by  the  light  of  their  flambeaux. 
They  are  entering  the  gate  at  the  dove-cote." 

A  part  of  the  queen's  guard  had  been  quartered  in  the 
village  of  Bakewell. 

Dorothy  stood  at  the  window  for  a  moment  and  said : 
"  The  other  guards  are  here  under  our  window  and  are 
ready  to  march  to  Rutland.  There  is  Lord  Cecil,  and 
Sir  William  St.  Loe,  and  Malcolm,  and  there  is  my  father. 
Now  they  are  off  to  meet  the  other  yeomen  at  the 
dove-cote.  The  stable  boys  are  lighting  their  torches 
and  flambeaux.  They  are  going  to  murder  John,  and  I 
have  sent  them." 

Dorothy  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  slowly 
walked  to  and  fro  across  the  room. 

"  Call  Malcolm,"  said  Madge.  "  Perhaps  he  can  help 
us.  Lead  me  to  the  window,  Dorothy,  and  I  will  call  him," 

Dorothy  led  Madge  to  the  window,  and  above  the  din  of 
arms  I  heard  her  soft  voice  calling,  "  Malcolm,  Malcolm/' 


312  DOROTHY    VERNON 

The  order  to  march  had  been  given  before  Madge 
called,  but  I  sought  Sir  William  and  told  him  I  would 
return  to  the  Hall  to  get  another  sword  and  would  soon 
overtake  him  on  the  road  to  Rutland. 

I  then  hastened  to  Dorothy's  room.  I  was  ignorant  of 
the  means  whereby  Elizabeth  had  learned  of  Mary's  pres 
ence  at  Rutland.  The  queen  had  told  no  one  how  the 
information  reached  her.  The  fact  that  Mary  was  in  Eng 
land  was  all  sufficient  for  Cecil,  and  he  proceeded  to 
execute  the  order  Elizabeth  had  given  for  Mary's  arrest, 
without  asking  or  desiring  any  explanation.  I,  of  course, 
was  in  great  distress  for  John's  sake,  since  I  knew  that  he 
would  be  attainted  of  treason.  I  had  sought  in  vain  some 
plan  whereby  I  might  help  him,  but  found  none.  I,  my 
self,  being  a  Scottish  refugee,  occupied  no  safe  position, 
and  my  slightest  act  toward  helping  John  or  Mary  would 
be  construed  against  me. 

When  I  entered  Dorothy's  room,  she  ran  to  me  and  said  : 
"  Can  you  help  me,  Malcolm  ?  Can  you  help  me  save  him 
from  this  terrible  evil  which  I  have  brought  upon  him  ?  " 

"  How  did  you  bring  the  evil  upon  him  ?  "  I  asked,  in 
astonishment.  "  It  was  not  your  fault  that  he  brought 
Mary  Stuart  to  —  " 

"  No,  no,"  she  answered  ;  "  but  I  told  the  queen  she  was 
at  Rutland." 

"  You  told  the  queen  ? "  I  exclaimed,  unwilling  to  believe 
my  ears.  "You  told —  How  —  why  —  why  did  you  tell 
her  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know  why  I  told  her,"  she  replied.  "  I  was 
mad  with  —  with  jealousy.  You  warned  me  against  it,  but 
I  did  not  heed  you.  Jennie  Faxton  told  me  that  she  saw 
John  and  —  but  all  that  does  not  matter  now.  I  will  tell 
you  hereafter  if  I  live.  What  we  must  now  do  is  to  save 
him  —  to  save  him  if  we  can.  Try  to  devise  some  plan. 
Think  —  think,  Malcolm." 


MARY    STUART  313 

My  first  thought  was  to  ride  to  Rutland  Castle  and  give 
the  alarm.  Sir  George  would  lead  the  yeomen  thither  by 
the  shortest  route  —  the  road  by  way  of  Rowsley.  There 
v/as  another  route  leading  up  the  Lathkil  through  the  dale, 
and  thence  by  a  road  turning  southward  to  Rutland.  That 
road  was  longer  by  a  league  than  the  one  Sir  George  would 
take,  but  I  could  put  my  horse  to  his  greatest  speed,  and  I 
might  be  able  to  reach  the  castle  in  time  to  enable  John  and 
Mary  to  escape.  I  considered  the  question  a  moment.  My 
own  life  certainly  would  pay  the  forfeit  in  case  of  failure ;  but 
my  love  for  John  and,  I  confess  it  with  shame,  the  memory 
of  my  old  tenderness  for  Mary  impelled  me  to  take  the 
risk.  I  explained  the  plan  upon  which  I  was  thinking, 
and  told  them  of  my  determination.  When  I  did  so,  Madge 
grasped  me  by  the  arm  to  detain  me,  and  Dorothy  fell 
upon  her  knees  and  kissed  my  hand. 

I  said,  "  I  must  start  at  once ;  for,  ride  as  I  may,  I  fear 
the  yeomen  will  reach  Rutland  gates  before  I  can  get 
there." 

"  But  if  the  guards  should  be  at  the  gates  when  you 
arrive,  or  if  you  should  be  missed  by  Cecil,  you,  a  Scottish 
refugee  and  a  friend  of  Queen  Mary,  would  be  suspected  of 
treason,  and  you  would  lose  your  life,"  said  Madge,  who 
was  filled  with  alarm  for  my  sake. 

"That  is  true,"  I  replied;  "but  I  can  think  of  no  other 
way  whereby  John  can  possibly  be  saved." 

Dorothy  stood  for  a  moment  in  deep  thought,  and 
said  :  — 

"  I  will  ride  to  Rutland  by  way  of  Lathkil  Dale  —  I  will 
ride  in  place  of  you,  Malcolm.  It  is  my  duty  and  my 
privilege  to  do  this  if  I  can." 

I  saw  the  truth  of  her  words,  and  felt  that  since  Doro 
thy  had  wrought  the  evil,  it  was  clearly  her  duty  to  remedy 
it  if  she  could.  If  she  should  fail,  no  evil  consequences 
would  fail  upon  her.  If  I  should  fail,  it  would  cost  me  my 


3H  DOROTHY    VERNON 

life;  and  while  I  desired  to  save  John,  still  I  wished  to 
save  myself.  Though  my  conduct  may  not  have  been 
chivalric,  still  I  was  willing  that  Dorothy  should  go  in  my 
place,  and  I  told  her  so.  I  offered  to  ride  with  her  as  far 
as  a  certain  cross-road  a  league  distant  from  Rutland  Cas 
tle.  There  I  would  leave  her,  and  go  across  the  country 
to  meet  the  yeomen  on  the  road  they  had  taken.  I  could 
join  them  before  they  reached  Rutland,  and  my  absence  dur 
ing  the  earlier  portion  of  the  march  would  not  be  remarked, 
or  if  noticed  it  could  easily  be  explained. 

This  plan  was  agreed  upon,  and  after  the  guards  had 
passed  out  at  Dove-cote  Gate  and  were  well  down  toward 
Rowsley,  I  rode  out  from  the  Hall,  and  waited  for  Dorothy 
at  an  appointed  spot  near  Overhaddon. 

Immediately  after  my  departure  Dolcy  was  saddled,  and 
soon  Dorothy  rode  furiously  up  to  me.  Away  we  sped, 
Dorothy  and  I,  by  Yulegrave  church,  down  into  the  dale, 
and  up  the  river.  Never  shall  I  forget  that  mad  ride. 
Heavy  rains  had  recently  fallen,  and  the  road  in  places 
was  almost  impassable.  The  rivers  were  in  flood,  but 
when  Dorothy  and  I  reached  the  ford,  the  girl  did  not  stop 
to  consider  the  danger  ahead  of  her.  I  heard  her  whisper, 
"  On,  Dolcy,  on,"  and  I  heard  the  sharp  "  whisp  "  of  the 
whip  as  she  struck  the  trembling,  fearful  mare,  and  urged 
her  into  the  dark  flood.  Dolcy  hesitated,  but  Dorothy 
struck  her  again  and  again  with  the  whip  and  softly  cried, 
"  On,  Dolcy,  on."  Then  mare  and  rider  plunged  into  the 
swollen  river,  and  I,  of  course,  followed  them.  The  water 
was  so  deep  that  our  horses  were  compelled  to  swim,  and 
when  we  reached  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  we  had 
drifted  with  the  current  a  distance  of  at  least  three  hun 
dred  yards  below  the  road.  We  climbed  the  cliff  by  a 
sheep  path.  How  Dorothy  did  it  I  do  not  know;  and  how 
I  succeeded  in  following  her  I  know  even  less.  When  we 
reached  the  top  of  the  cliff,  Dorothy  started  off  at  full 


MARY    STUART  315 

gallop,  leading  the  way,  and  again  I  followed.  The  sheep 
path  leading  up  the  river  to  the  road  followed  close  the 
edge  of  the  cliff,  where  a  false  step  by  the  horse  would 
mean  death  to  both  horse  and  rider.  But  Dorothy  feared 
not,  or  knew  not,  the  danger,  and  I  caught  her  ever 
whispered  cry,  —  "On,  Dolcy,  on;  on,  Dolcy,  on."  Ashamed 
to  fall  behind,  yet  fearing  to  ride  at  such  a  pace  on  such 
a  path,  I  urged  my  horse  forward.  He  was  a  fine,  strong, 
mettlesome  brute,  and  I  succeeded  in  keeping  the  girl's 
dim  form  in  sight.  The  moon,  which  was  rapidly  sinking 
westward,  still  gave  us  light  through  rifts  in  the  black 
bank  of  floating  clouds,  else  that  ride  over  the  sheep  path 
by  the  cliff  would  have  been  our  last  journey  in  the  flesh. 

Soon  we  reached  the  main  road  turning  southward.  It 
was  a  series  of  rough  rocks  and  mudholes,  and  Dorothy 
and  Dolcy  shot  forward  upon  it  with  the  speed  of  the 
tempest,  to  undo,  if  possible,  the  evil  which  a  dozen  words, 
untimely  spoken,  had  wrought.  I  urged  my  horse  until 
his  head  was  close  by  Dolcy's  tail,  and  ever  and  anon 
could  I  hear  the  whispered  cry,  — "  On,  Dolcy,  on ;  on, 
Dolcy,  sweet  Dolcy,  good  Dolcy  ;  on,  my  pet,  on." 

No  word  was  spoken  between  Dorothy  and  me ;  but  I 
could  hear  Dolcy  panting  with  her  mighty  effort,  and 
amid  the  noise  of  splashing  water  and  the  thud,  thud,  thud 
of  our  horses'  hoofs  came  always  back  to  me  from  Doro 
thy's  lips  the  sad,  sad  cry,  full  of  agony  and  longing,  —  "  On, 
Dolcy,  on  ;  on  Dolcy,  on." 

The  road  we  took  led  us  over  steep  hills  and  down 
through  dark,  shadow-crowded  ravines  ;  but  up  hill,  down 
hill,  and  on  the  level  the  terrible  girl  before  me  plunged 
forward  with  unabated  headlong  fury  until  I  thought 
surely  the  flesh  of  horse,  man,  and  woman  could  endure  the 
strain  not  one  moment  longer.  But  the  horses,  the  woman, 
and  —  though  I  say  it  who  should  not  —  the  man  were  of 
God's  best  handiwork,  and  the  cords  of  our  lives  did  not 


316  DOROTHY    VERNON 

snap.  One  thought,  and  only  one,  held  possession  of  the 
girl,  and  the  matter  of  her  own  life  or  death  had  no  place 
in  her  mind. 

When  we  reached  the  cross-road  where  I  was  to  leave 
her,  we  halted  while  I  instructed  Dorothy  concerning  the 
road  she  should  follow  from  that  point  to  Rutland,  and 
directed  her  how  to  proceed  when  she  should  arrive  at  the 
castle  gate.  She  eagerly  listened  for  a  moment  or  two, 
then  grew  impatient,  and  told  me  to  hasten  in  my  speech, 
since  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  Then  she  fearlessly 
dashed  away  alone  into  the  black  night;  and  as  I  watched 
her  fair  form  fade  into  the  shadows,  the  haunting  cry  came 
faintly  back  to  me,  —  "On,  Dolcy,  on  ;  on,  Dolcy  on,"  and 
I  was  sick  at  heart.  I  was  loath  to  leave  her  thus  in  the 
inky  gloom.  The  moon  had  sunk  for  the  night,  and  the 
clouds  had  banked  up  without  a  rift  against  the  hidden 
stars  ;  but  I  could  give  her  no  further  help,  and  my  life 
would  pay  the  forfeit  should  I  accompany  her.  She  had 
brought  the  evil  upon  herself.  She  was  the  iron,  the  seed, 
the  cloud,  and  the  rain.  She  was  fulfilling  her  destiny. 
She  was  doing  that  which  she  must  do  :  nothing  more, 
nothing  less.  She  was  filling  her  little  niche  in  the  uni 
versal  moment.  She  was  a  part  of  the  infinite  kaleido 
scope  —  a  fate-charged,  fate-moved,  fragile  piece  of  glass 
which  might  be  crushed  to  atoms  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye,  in  the  sounding  of  a  trump. 

After  leaving  Dorothy  I  rode  across  the  country  and 
soon  overtook  the  yeoman  guard  whom  I  joined  unob 
served.  Then  I  marched  with  them,  all  too  rapidly  to 
suit  me,  to  Rutland.  The  little  army  had  travelled  with 
greater  speed  than  I  had  expected,  and  I  soon  began  to 
fear  that  Dorothy  would  not  reach  Rutland  Castle  in  time 
to  enable  its  inmates  to  escape. 

Within  half  an  hour  from  the  time  I  joined  the  yeomen 
we  saw  the  dim  outlines  of  the  castle,  and  Sir  William 


MARY    STUART  317 

St.  Loe  gave  the  command  to  hurry  forward.  Cecil,  Sir 
William,  Sir  George,  and  myself  rode  in  advance  of  the 
column.  As  we  approached  the  castle  by  the  road  lead 
ing  directly  to  the  gate  from  the  north,  I  saw  for  a  moment 
upon  the  top  of  the  hill  west  of  the  castle  gate  the  forms 
of  Dorothy  and  Dolcy  in  dim  silhouette  against  the  sky. 
Then  I  saw  them  plunge  madly  down  the  hill  toward 
the  gate.  I  fancied  I  could  hear  the  girl  whispering  in 
frenzied  hoarseness,  —  "On,  Dolcy,  on,"  and  I  thought 
I  could  catch  the  panting  of  the  mare.  At  the  foot  of 
the  hill,  less  than  one  hundred  yards  from  the  gate,  poor 
Dolcy,  unable  to  take  another  step,  dropped  to  the  ground. 
Dolcy  had  gone  on  to  her  death.  She  had  filled  her  little 
niche  in  the  universe  and  had  died  at  her  post.  Dorotny 
plunged  forward  over  the  mare's  head,  and  a  cry  of  alarm 
came  from  my  lips  despite  me.  I  was  sure  the  girl  had 
been  killed.  She,  however,  instantly  sprang  to  her  feet. 
Her  hair  was  flying  behind  her  and  she  ran  toward  the 
gate  crying  :  "  John,  John,  fly  for  your  life  !  "  And  then 
she  fell  prone  upon  the  ground  and  did  not  rise. 

We  had  all  seen  the  mare  fall,  and  had  seen  the  girl 
run  forward  toward  the  gates  and  fall  before  reaching 
them.  Cecil  and  Sir  William  rode  to  the  spot  where 
Dorothy  lay,  and  dismounted. 

In  a  moment  Sir  William  called  to   Sir  George :  — 
"  The  lady  is  your  daughter,  Mistress  Dorothy." 
"  What  in  hell's   name   brings    her    here  ? "    cried    Sir 
George,  hurriedly  riding  forward,  "  and  how  came  she  ?  " 

I  followed  speedily,  and  the  piteous  sight  filled  my  eyes 
with  tears.  I  cannot  describe  it  adequately  to  you,  though 
I  shall  see  it  vividly  to  the  end  of  my  days.  Dorothy  had 
received  a  slight  wound  upon  the  temple,  and  blood  was 
trickling  down  her  face  upon  her  neck  and  ruff.  Her  hair 
had  fallen  from  its  fastenings.  She  had  lost  her  hat, 
and  her  gown  was  torn  in  shreds  and  covered  with  mud. 


318  DOROTHY    VERNON 

I  lifted  the  half-conscious  girl  to  her  feet  and  supported 
her;  then  with  my  kerchief  I  bound  up  the  wound  upon 
her  temple. 

"  Poor  Dolcy,"  she  said,  almost  incoherently,  "  I  have 
killed  her  and  I  have  failed  —  I  have  failed.  Now  I  am 
ready  to  die.  Would  that  I  had  died  with  Dolcy.  Let  me 
lie  down  here,  Malcolm, — let  me  lie  down." 

I  still  held  her  in  my  arms  and  supported  her  half -faint 
ing  form. 

"  Why  are  you  here  ?  "  demanded  Sir  George. 

"To  die,"  responded  Dorothy. 

"To  die?  Damned  nonsense  !"*  returned  her  father. 
"  How  came  you  here,  you  fool  ?  " 

"  On  Dolcy.     She  is  dead,"  returned  Dorothy. 

"Were  you  not  at  Haddon  when  we  left  there?"  asked 
her  father. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied. 

"  Did  you  pass  us  on  the  road  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No." 

"  How  came  you  here  ? "  Sir  George  insisted. 

"  Oh,  I  flew  hither.  I  am  a  witch.  Don't  question  me, 
father.  I  am  in  no  temper  to  listen  to  you.  I  warn  you 
once  and  for  all,  keep  away  from  me ;  beware  of  me.  I 
have  a  dagger  in  my  bosom.  Go  and  do  the  work  you 
came  to  do;  but  remember  this,  father,  if  harm  comes  to 
him  I  will  take  my  own  life,  and  my  blood  shall  be  upon 
your  soul." 

"  My  God,  Malcolm,  what  does  she  mean  ? "  asked  Sir 
George,  touched  with  fear  by  the  strength  of  his  daughter's 
threat.  "  Has  she  lost  her  wits  ? " 

"  No,"  the  girl  quickly  responded,  "  I  have  only  just 
found  them." 

Sir  George  continued  to  question  Dorothy,  but  he  re 
ceived  no  further  response  from  her.  She  simply  held  up 
the  palm  of  her  hand  warningly  toward  him,  and  the  ges- 


MARY    STUART  319 

ture  was  as  eloquent  as  an  oration.  She  leaned  against 
me,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  while  her  form 
shook  and  trembled  as  if  with  a  palsy. 

Cecil  and  Sir  William  St.  Loe  then  went  toward  the 
gate,  and  Sir  George  said  to  me  :  — 

"  I  must  go  with  them.  You  remain  with  Doll,  and 
see  that  she  is  taken  home.  Procure  a  horse  for  her. 
If  she  is  unable  to  ride,  make  a  litter,  or  perhaps  there  is  a 
coach  in  the  castle ;  if  so,  take  possession  of  it.  Take  her 
home  by  some  means  when  we  return.  What,  think  you, 
could  have  brought  her  here  ?  " 

I  evaded  the  question  by  replying,  "  I  will  probably  be 
able  to  get  a  coach  in  the  castle,  Sir  George.  Leave  Doro 
thy  with  me." 

Soon,  by  the  command  of  Sir  William,  the  yeomen  rode 
to  the  right  and  to  the  left  for  the  purpose  of  surrounding 
the  castle,  and  then  I  heard  Cecil  at  the  gates  demand 
ing  :  — 

"  Open  in  the  name  of  the  queen." 

"Let  us  go  to  the  gates,"  said  Dorothy,  "that  we  may 
hear  what  they  say  and  see  what  they  do.  Will  they  kill 
him  here,  think  you  ? "  she  asked,  looking  wildly  into  my 
face. 

The  flambeaux  on  the  castle  gate  and  those  which  the 
link-boys  had  brought  with  them  from  Haddon  were 
lighted,  and  the  scene  in  front  of  the  gate  was  all 
aglow. 

"  No,  no,  my  sweet  one,"  I  answered,  "  perhaps  they  will 
not  kill  him  at  all.  Certainly  they  will  not  kill  him  now. 
They  must  try  him  first." 

I  tried  to  dissuade  her  from  going  to  the  gates,  but  she 
insisted,  and  I  helped  her  to  walk  forward. 

When  Dorothy  and  I  reached  the  gates,  we  found  that 
Cecil  and  Lord  Rutland  were  holding  a  consultation 
through  the  parley-window.  The  portcullis  was  still  down, 


320  DOROTHY    VERNON 

and  the  gates  were  closed  ;  but  soon  the  portcullis  was 
raised,  a  postern  was  opened  from  within,  and  Sir 
William  entered  the  castle  with  two  score  of  the  yeomen 
guards. 

Sir  George  approached  and  again  plied  Dorothy  with 
questions,  but  she  would  not  speak.  One  would  have 
thought  from  her  attitude  that  she  was  deaf  and  dumb. 
She  seemed  unconscious  of  her  father's  presence. 

"She  has  lost  her  mind,"  said  Sir  George,  in  tones  of 
deep  trouble,  "and  I  know  not  what  to  do." 

"  Leave  her  with  me  for  a  time,  cousin.  I  am  sure  she 
will  be  better  if  we  do  not  question  her  now." 

Then  Dorothy  seemed  to  awaken.  "  Malcolm  is  right, 
father.  Leave  me  for  a  time,  I  pray  you." 

Sir  George  left  us,  and  waited  with  a  party  of  yeomen  a 
short  distance  from  the  gate  for  the  return  of  Sir  William 
with  his  prisoners. 

Dorothy  and  I  sat  upon  a  stone  bench,  near  the  postern 
through  which  Sir  William  and  the  guardsmen  had  entered, 
but  neither  of  us  spoke. 

After  a  long,  weary  time  of  waiting  Sir  William  came 
out  of  the  castle  through  the  postern,  and  with  him  came 
Mary  Stuart.  My  heart  jumped  when  I  saw  her  in  the 
glare  of  the  flambeaux,  and  the  spirit  of  my  dead  love  for 
her  came  begging  admission  to  my  heart.  I  cannot  de 
scribe  my  sensations  when  I  beheld  her,  but  this  I  knew, 
that  my  love  for  her  was  dead  past  resurrection. 

Following  Mary  came  Lord  Rutland,  and  immediately 
following  his  Lordship  walked  John.  When  he  stepped 
through  the  postern,  Dorothy  sprang  to  her  feet  and  ran 
to  him  with  a  cry,  "John,  John !  " 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  and  stepped  toward  her 
with  evident  intent  to  embrace  her.  His  act  was  probably 
the  result  of  an  involuntary  impulse,  for  he  stopped  before 
he  reached  the  girl. 


MARY    STUART  321 

Sir  George  had  gone  at  Sir  William's  request  to  arrange 
the  guards  for  the  return  march. 

Dorothy  and  John  were  standing  within  two  yards  of 
each  other. 

"  Do  not  touch  me,"  cried  Dorothy,  "  save  to  strike  me 
if  you  will.  The  evil  which  has  come  upon  you  is  of  my 
doing.  I  betrayed  you  to  the  queen." 

I  saw  Mary  turn  quickly  toward  the  girl  when  she 
uttered  those  words. 

"  I  was  insane  when  I  did  it,"  continued  Dorothy. 
"They  will  take  your  life,  John.  But  when  you  die  I 
also  shall  die.  It  is  a  poor  reparation,  I  know,  but  it  is 
the  only  one  I  can  make." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  Dorothy,"  said  John.  "  Why 
should  you  betray  me  ? " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  she  answered.  "  All  I  know  is  that 
I  did  betray  you  and  I  hardly  know  how  I  did  it.  It  all 
seems  like  a  dream  — like  a  fearful  monster  of  the  night. 
There  is  no  need  for  me  to  explain.  I  betrayed  you  and 
now  I  suffer  for  it,  more  a  thousand-fold  than  you  can  pos 
sibly  surfer.  I  offer  no  excuse.  I  have  none.  I  simply 
betrayed  you,  and  ask  only  that  I  may  die  with  you." 

Then  was  manifest  in  John's  heart  the  noblest  quality 
which  God  has  given  to  man  —  charity,  strengthened  by 
reason.  His  face  glowed  with  a  light  that  seemed  saint 
like,  and  a  grand  look  of  ineffable  love  and  pity  came  to 
his  eyes.  He  seemed  as  if  by  inspiration  to  understand 
all  that  Dorothy  had  felt  and  done,  and  he  knew  that  if 
she  had  betrayed  him  she  had  done  it  at  a  time  when  she 
was  not  responsible  for  her  acts.  He  stepped  quickly  to 
the  girl's  side,  and  caring  naught  that  we  all  should  see 
him,  caught  her  to  his  breast.  He  held  her  in  his  arms, 
and  the  light  of  the  flambeaux  fell  upon  her  upturned  face. 

"  Dorothy,"  he  said,  "  it  matters  not  what  you  have 
done ;  you  are  my  only  love.  I  ask  no  explanation.  If 


322  DOROTHY    VERNON 

you  have  betrayed  me  to  death,  though  I  hope  it  will  not 
come  to  that  evil,  you  did  not  do  it  because  you  did  not 
love  me." 

"  No,  no,  John,  you  know  that,"  sobbed  the  girl. 

"  I  do  know  it,  Dorothy  ;  I  know  all  that  I  wish  to  know. 
You  would  not  intentionally  bring  evil  upon  me  while  you 
love  me." 

"  Ah,  that  I  do,  John  ;  only  God  knows  how  deeply,  how 
desperately.  My  love  was  the  cause  —  my  love  was  my 
curse  —  it  was  your  curse." 

"  Do  not  weep,  Dorothy,"  said  John,  interrupting  her. 
"  I  would  that  I  could  take  all  your  suffering  upon  myself. 
Do  not  weep." 

Dorothy  buried  her  face  upon  his  breast  and  tears  came 
to  her  relief.  She  was  not  alone  in  her  weeping,  for 
there  stood  I  like  a  very  woman,  and  by  my  side  stood 
rough  old  Sir  William.  Tears  were  coursing  down  the 
bronzed  cheek  of  the  grand  old  warrior  like  drops  of  glis 
tening  dew  upon  the  harrowed  face  of  a  mountain  rock. 
When  I  saw  Sir  William's  tears,  I  could  no  longer  restrain 
my  emotions,  and  I  frankly  tell  you  that  I  made  a  spectacle 
of  myself  in  full  view  of  the  queen's  yeoman  guard. 

Sir  George  approached  our  little  group,  and  when  he 
saw  Dorothy  in  John's  arms,  he  broke  forth  into  oaths  and 
stepped  toward  her  intending  to  force  her  away.  But  John 
held  up  the  palm  of  his  free  hand  warningly  toward  Sir 
George,  and  drawing  the  girl's  drooping  form  close  to  his 
breast  he  spoke  calmly  :  — 

"  Old  man,  if  you  but  lay  a  finger  on  this  girl,  I  will 
kill  you  where  you  stand.  No  power  on  earth  can  save 
you." 

There  was  a  tone  in  John's  voice  that  forced  even  Sir 
George  to  pause.  Then  Sir  George  turned  to  me. 

"  This  is  the  man  who  was  in  my  house.  He  is  the  man 
who  called  himself  Thomas.  Do  you  know  him  ? " 


MARY    STUART  323 

Dorothy  saved  me  from  the  humiliation  of  an  answer. 

She  took  one  step  from  John's  side  and  held  him  by  the 
hand  while  she  spoke. 

"Father,"  she  said,  "this  man  is  Sir  John  Manners. 
Now  you  may  understand  why  he  could  not  seek  my  hand 
openly,  and  you  also  know  why  I  could  not  tell  you  his 
name."  She  again  turned  to  John,  and  he  put  his  arm 
about  her.  You  can  imagine  much  better  that  I  can 
describe  Sir  George's  fury.  He  snatched  a  halberd  from 
the  hands  of  a  yeoman  who  was  standing  near  by  and 
started  toward  John  and  Dorothy.  Thereupon  the  hard 
old  warrior,  Sir  William  St.  Loe,  whose  heart  one  would 
surely  say  was  the  last  place  where  sentiment  could  dwell, 
performed  a  little  act  of  virtue  which  will  balance  many  a 
page  on  the  debtor  side  of  his  ledger  of  life.  He  lifted  his 
sword  and  scabbard  and  struck  Sir  George's  outstretched 
hand,  causing  the  halberd  to  fall  to  the  ground. 

"  Don't  touch  the  girl,"  cried  Sir  William,  hoarsely. 

"  She  is  my  daughter,"  retorted  Sir  George,  who  was 
stunned  mentally  as  well  as  physically  by  Sir  William's 
blow. 

"  I  care  not  whose  daughter  she  is,"  returned  Sir  William. 
"You  shall  not  touch  her.  If  you  make  but  one  other 
attempt,  I  will  use  my  blade  upon  you." 

Sir  William  and  John  had  been  warm  friends  at  London 
court,  and  the  old  captain  of  the  guards  quickly  guessed 
the  true  situation  when  he  saw  Dorothy  run  to  John's  arms. 

"  Sir,  you  shall  answer  for  this,"  said  Sir  George,  angrily, 
to  Sir  William. 

"  With  pleasure,"  returned  Sir  William.  "  I  will  give 
you  satisfaction  whenever  you  wish  it,  save  this  present 
time.  I  am  too  busy  now." 

Blessed  old  Sir  William !  You  have  been  dead  these 
many  winters ;  and  were  I  a  priest,  I  would  say  a  mass  for 
your  soul  gratis  every  day  in  the  year. 


324  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Did  the  girl  betray  us  ?  "  asked  Queen  Mary. 

No  one  answered  her  question.  Then  she  turned  toward 
Sir  John  and  touched  him  upon  the  shoulder.  He  turned 
his  face  toward  her  signifying  that  he  was  listening. 

"  Who  is  this  girl?  "  Mary  demanded. 

"  My  sweetheart,  my  affianced  wife,"  John  answered. 

"  She  says  she  betrayed  us,"  the  queen  responded. 

"  Yes,"  said  John. 

"  Did  you  trust  her  with  knowledge  of  our  presence  in 
Rutland  ?  "  Mary  demanded  angrily. 

"I  did,"  he  answered. 

"You  were  a  fool,"  said  Mary. 

"  I  know  it,"  responded  John. 

"  You  certainly  bear  her  no  resentment  for  her  treason," 
said  Mary. 

"  I  certainly  do  not,"  quietly  answered  John.  "  Her 
suffering  is  greater  than  mine.  Can  you  not  see  that  it 
is?" 

"  It  is  your  privilege,"  said  Mary,  scornfully,  "  to  intrust 
your  own  secrets  to  whomsoever  you  may  choose  for  your 
confidant,  and  it  is  quite  saintlike  in  you  to  forgive  this 
person  for  betraying  you ;  but  what  think  you  of  the  hard 
case  in  which  her  treason  and  your  folly  have  placed 
me  ? " 

"That  is  my  greatest  grief,  save  for  Dorothy,"  answered 
John,  softly.  Lived  there  over  a  man  possessed  of  broader 
charity  or  deeper  love  than  John  ?  God  surely  made  him 
of  gold  dust,  not  of  common  clay. 

Queen  Mary  stepped  away  from  John  in  disgust,  and 
when  she  turned  she  saw  me  for  the  first  time.  She 
started  and  was  about  to  speak,  but  I  placed  my  fingers 
warningly  upon  my  lips  and  she  remained  silent. 

"  Where  do  you  take  us,  Sir  William  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  To  Haddon  Hall.  There  you  will  await  the  commands 
of  the  queen." 


MARY    STUART  325 

"  How  came  you  here  ?  "  John  asked  gently  of  Dorothy. 

"I  rode  Dolcy,"  she  whispered.  "She  dropped  dead 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  Yonder  she  lies.  I  came  up  the 
Lathkil  by  the  long  road,  and  I  hoped  that  I  might  reach 
you  in  time  to  give  warning.  When  the  guard  left  H ad 
don  I  realized  the  evil  that  would  come  upon  you  by  rea 
son  of  my  base  betrayal."  Here  she  broke  down  and  for  a 
moment  could  not  proceed  in  the  narrative.  She  soon 
recovered  and  continued  :  "  Then  I  mounted  Dolcy,  and 
tried  to  reach  here  by  way  of  the  long  road.  Poor  Dolcy 
seemed  to  understand  my  trouble  and  my  despair,  and  she 
brought  me  with  all  the  speed  that  a  horse  could  make ;  but 
the  road  was  too  long  and  too  rough ;  and  she  failed,  and  I 
failed.  Would  that  I  could  have  died  in  her  place.  She 
gave  her  life  in  trying  to  remedy  my  fault." 

Dorothy  again  began  to  weep,  and  John  tenderly  whis 
pered  :  — 

"  All  will  yet  come  right."  Then  he  kissed  her  before 
us  all,  and  handed  her  to  me  saying,  "  Care  for  her,  I  pray 
you,  sir." 

John  spoke  a  few  words  to  Sir  William,  and  in  a  moment 
they  both  went  back  to  the  castle. 

In  a  short  time  the  gates  were  opened,  and  the  Rutland 
coach  drawn  by  four  horses  emerged  from  the  castle 
grounds.  Sir  William  then  directed  Mary  and  Dorothy  to 
enter  the  coach  and  requested  me  to  ride  with  them  to 
H  addon  Hall. 

The  yeoman  guards  were  in  marching  order,  and  I  took 
my  seat  in  the  coach.  The  fates  surely  were  in  a  humor 
ous  mood  when  they  threw  Dorothy,  Queen  Mary,  and  my 
self  together.  Pause  for  a  moment  and  consider  the 
situation.  You  know  all  the  facts  and  you  can  analyze  it 
as  well  as  I.  I  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  fantastic 
trick  of  destiny. 

Soon   after   I   entered  the  coach  Sir  William  gave  the 


326  DOROTHY    VERNON 

word,  and  the  yeomen  with  Lord  Rutland  and  John  moved 
forward  on  the  road  to  H  addon. 

The  coach  at  once  followed  the  guard  and  a  score  of 
yeomen  followed  us. 

Queen  Mary  occupied  the  back  seat  of  the  coach,  and 
Dorothy  and  I  sat  upon  the  front  seat  facing  her. 

Dorothy  was  exhausted,  and  her  head  lay  upon  my 
shoulder.  Now  and  again  she  would  softly  moan  and  sob, 
but  she  said  nothing.  After  a  few  minutes  of  silence 
Queen  Mary  spoke:  — 

"  Why  did  you  betray  me,  you  miserable  wretch  ?  Why 
did  you  betray  me  ?  " 

Dorothy  did  not  answer.     Mary  continued  :  — 

"  Have  I  ever  injured  you  in  any  manner  ?  Have  I  ever 
harmed  you  by  thought,  word,  or  deed  ?  " 

Dorothy's  only  answer  was  a  sob. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  a  canting  fanatic,  and  it  may  be  that 
you  hate  me  for  the  sake  of  that  which  you  call  the  love  of 
God  ? " 

"  No,  no,  madam,"  I  said,  "  that  was  not  the  reason." 

"  Do  you  know  the  reason,  Malcolm  ? "  asked  Mary,  ad 
dressing  me  for  the  first  time.  My  name  upon  her  lips  had 
a  strange  effect  on  me.  It  was  like  the  wafting  to  my 
nostrils  of  a  sweet  forgotten  odor,  or  the  falling  upon  my 
ears  of  a  tender  refrain  of  bygone  days.  Her  voice  in 
uttering  my  name  thrilled  me,  and  I  hated  myself  for  my 
weakness. 

I  told  Mary  that  I  did  not  know  Dorothy's  reasons,  and 
she  continued :  — 

"  Malcolm,  you  were  not  a  party  to  my  betrayal  for  the 
sake  of  revenging  yourself  on  me  ?  " 

"  God  forbid  !  "  I  answered.  "  Sir  John  Manners  will 
assure  you  of  my  innocence.  I  rode  with  Mistress 
Vernon  to  a  cross-road  within  a  league  of  Rutland,  hoping 
thereby  to  assist  her  to  give  you  and  Sir  John  the  alarm." 


MARY    STUART  327 

My  admission  soon  brought  me  into  trouble. 

"  I  alone  am  to  blame,"  said  Dorothy,  faintly. 

"  I  can  easily  believe  you,"  said  Mary,  sharply.  "  Did 
you  expect  to  injure  me  ?  " 

No  answer  came  from  Dorothy. 

"  If  you  expect  to  injure  me,"  Mary  continued,  "  you  will 
be  disappointed.  I  am  a  queen,  and  my  Cousin  Elizabeth 
would  not  dare  to  harm  me,  even  though  she  might  wish  to 
do  so.  We  are  of  the  same  blood,  and  she  will  not  wish 
to  do  me  injury.  Your  doting  lover  will  probably  lose 
his  head  for  bringing  me  to  England  without  his  queen's 
consent.  He  is  her  subject.  I  am  not.  I  wish  you  joy 
of  the  trouble  you  have  brought  upon  him  and  upon  your 
self." 

"  Upon  him  !  "  cried  Dorothy. 

"Yes,  upon  him,"  continued  Mary,  relishing  the  torture 
she  was  inflicting.  "You  will  enjoy  seeing  him  beheaded, 
will  you  not,  you  fool,  you  huzzy,  you  wretch  ?  I  hope  his 
death  will  haunt  you  till  the  end  of  your  days." 

Poor  Dorothy,  leaning  against  me,  said  faintly :  — 

"  It  will  —  it  will.     You  —  you  devil." 

The  girl  was  almost  dead  from  exhaustion  and  anguish, 
but  she  would  have  been  dead  indeed  had  she  lacked  the 
power  to  strike  back.  I  believe  had  it  not  been  for  Doro 
thy's  physical  weakness  she  would  have  silenced  Mary  with 
her  hands. 

After  a  little  time  Dorothy's  heavy  breathing  indicated 
that  she  had  fallen  asleep.  Her  head  rested  upon  my 
shoulder,  and  the  delicious  perfume  of  her  hair  and  the 
sweet  warm  breath  from  her  lips  were  almost  intoxicating 
even  to  me,  though  I  was  not  in  love  with  her.  How  great 
must  their  effect  have  been  coming  upon  John  hot  from  her 
intense  young  soul ! 

As  the  link-boys  passed  the  coach  some  and  some  with 
their  flambeaux  I  could  see  Dorothy's  sweet  pale  face, 


328  DOROTHY    VERNON 

almost  hidden  in  the  tangled  golden  red  hair  which  fell  in 
floods  about  her.  The  perfect  oval  of  her  cheek,  the  long 
wet  lashes,  the  arched  eyebrows,  the  low  broad  forehead, 
the  straight  nose,  the  saucy  chin  —  all  presented  a  picture 
of  beauty  and  pathos  sufficient  to  soften  a  heart  of  stone. 
Mary  had  no  heart  of  any  sort,  therefore  she  was  not 
moved  to  pity.  That  emotion,  I  am  sure,  she  never  felt 
from  the  first  to  the  last  day  of  her  life.  She  continued  to 
probe  Dorothy's  wound  until  I  told  her  the  girl  was  asleep. 
I  changed  Dorothy's  position  and  placed  her  head  against 
the  corner  cushion  of  the  coach  that  she  might  rest  more 
comfortably.  She  did  not  awaken  when  I  moved  her. 
She  slept  and  looked  like  a  child.  For  a  little  time  after  I 
had  changed  Dorothy's  position  Mary  and  I  sat  in  silence. 
She  was  the  first  to  speak.  She  leaned  forward  and  plac 
ing  her  hands  upon  mine,  whispered  my  name :  — 

"  Malcolm !  " 

After  a  brief  silence  I  said  :  — 

"  What  would  you,  your  Majesty  ?  " 

"  Not  '  your  Majesty  '  "  said  Mary,  softly,  "  but  Mary,  as 
of  old." 

She  remained  for  a  moment  with  her  hand  upon  my 
knee,  and  then  whispered  :  — 

"Will  you  not  sit  by  me,  Malcolm  ?  " 

I  believe  that  Mary  Stuart's  voice  was  the  charm 
wherewith  she  fascinated  men.  I  resisted  to  my  utmost 
strength,  but  that  seemed  to  be  little  more  than  utter 
weakness ;  so  I  took  a  seat  by  her  side,  and  she  gently 
placed  her  hand  in  mine.  The  warm  touch  of  her 
strong,  delicate  fingers  gave  me  a  familiar  thrill.  She 
asked  me  to  tell  her  of  my  wanderings  since  I  had  left 
Scotland,  and  I  briefly  related  all  my  adventures.  I  told 
her  of  my  home  at  Haddon  Hall  and  of  the  welcome  given 
me  by  my  cousin,  Sir  George. 

"  Malcolm,  have  you  forgotten  ?  "  she  whispered,  leaning 


MARY    STUART  329 

gently  against  me.  "  Have  you  forgotten  our  old-time 
vows  and  love  ?  Have  you  forgotten  all  that  passed 
between  us  in  the  dear  old  chateau,  when  I  gave  to  you 
my  virgin  love,  fresh  from  my  virgin  heart  ?  "  I  sighed  and 
tried  to  harden  my  heart  to  her  blandishments,  for  I  knew 
she  wished  to  use  me  and  was  tempting  me  to  that  end. 

She  continued,  "I  was  then  only  fourteen  years  old  — 
ten  years  ago.  You  said  that  you  loved  me  and  I  believed 
you.  You  could  not  doubt,  after  the  proof  I  gave  to  you, 
that  my  heart  was  all  yours.  We  were  happy,  oh,  so 
happy.  Do  you  remember,  Malcolm  ?  " 

She  brought  her  face  close  to  mine  while  she  spoke,  and 
pressed  my  hand  upon  her  breast. 

My  reason  told  me  that  it  was  but  the  song  of  the 
siren  she  was  singing  to  my  ears.  My  memory  told  me 
that  she  had  been  false  to  me  twice  two  score  times,  and 
I  knew  full  well  she  would  again  be  false  to  me,  or  to  any 
other  man  whom  she  could  use  for  her  purposes,  and  that 
she  cared  not  the  price  at  which  she  purchased  him.  Bear 
in  mind,  you  who  would  blame  me  for  my  fall,  that  this 
woman  not  only  was  transcendently  beautiful  and  fatally 
fascinating,  but  she  was  a  queen  and  had  held  undisputed 
sway  over  my  heart  for  more  years  than  I  could  accurately 
number.  As  I  said,  added  to  all  her  beauty,  she  was  a 
queen.  If  you  have  never  known  royalty,  you  cannot 
understand  its  enthralling  power. 

"  I  remember  it  all,  madam,"  I  replied,  trying  to  hold 
myself  away  from  her.  "  It  is  fresh  to  me  as  if  it  all  had 
happened  yesterday."  The  queen  drew  my  arm  closely 
to  her  side  and  nestled  her  cheek  for  an  instant  upon  my 
shoulder. 

"I  remember  also,"  I  continued,  "your  marriage  with 
Darnley  when  I  had  your  promise  that  you  would  marry 
me  ;  and,  shame  upon  shame,  I  remember  your  marriage 
with  Darnley's  murderer,  Bothwell." 


330  DOROTHY   VERNON 

"  Cruel,  cruel,  Malcolm,"  she  said.  "  You  well  know 
the  overpowering  reasons  of  state  which  impelled  me  to 
sacrifice  my  own  happiness  by  marrying  Darnley.  I  told 
you  at  the  time  that  I  hated  the  marriage  more  than  I 
dreaded  death.  But  I  longed  to  quiet  the  factions  in 
Scotland,  and  I  hoped  to  save  my  poor  bleeding  people 
from  the  evils  of  war.  You  know  I  hated  Darnley. 
You  know  I  loved  you.  You  knew  then  and  you  know 
now  that  you  are  the  only  man  who  has  ever  possessed  my 
heart.  You  know  that  my  words  are  true.  You  know 
that  you,  alone,  have  had  my  love  since  the  time  when  I 
was  a  child." 

"  And  Rizzio  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Ah,  Malcolm,"  she  answered  tearfully,  "  I  hope  you, 
of  all  men,  do  not  believe  that  I  ever  gave  a  thought  of 
love  to  Rizzio.  He  was  to  me  like  my  pet  monkey  or  my 
favorite  falcon.  He  was  a  beautiful,  gentle,  harmless  soul. 
I  loved  him  for  his  music.  He  worshipped  me  as  did  my 
spaniel." 

Still  I  was  determined  that  her  blandishments  should 
not  move  me. 

"And  Bothwell?"  I  asked. 

"  That  is  past  endurance  from  you,  Malcolm,"  she  said, 
beginning  to  weep.  "  You  know  I  was  brutally  abducted 
and  was  forced  into  marriage  with  him.  He  was  an 
outlaw,  an  outcast.  He  was  an  uncouth  brute  whom 
any  woman  would  loathe.  I  was  in  his  power,  and  I 
feigned  acquiescence  only  that  I  might  escape  and  achieve 
vengeance  upon  him.  Tell  me,  Malcolm,  tell  me,"  con 
tinued  Mary,  placing  her  arms  about  my  neck  and  clinging 
to  me,  "  tell  me,  you,  to  whom  I  gave  my  maiden's  love, 
you  who  have  my  woman's  heart,  tell  me,  do  you  believe 
that  I  could  willingly  have  married  Bothwell,  even  though 
my  heart  had  not  been  filled  with  the  image  of  you,  who 
are  strong,  gentle,  and  beautiful  ?  " 


MARY    STUART  331 

You,  if  you  are  a  man,  may  think  that  in  my  place  you 
would  have  resisted  the  attack  of  this  beautiful  queen,  but 
if  so  you  think  —  pardon  me,  my  friend  —  you  are  a  fool. 
Under  the  spell  of  her  magic  influence  I  wavered  in  the 
conviction  which  had  long  since  come  upon  me,  that  I  had 
for  years  been  her  fool  and  her  dupe.  I  forgot  the  former 
lessons  I  had  learned  from  her  perfidy.  I  forgot  my  man 
hood.  I  forgot  all  of  good  that  had  of  late  grown  up  in 
me.  God  help  me,  I  forgot  even  Madge. 

"  If  I  could  only  believe  you,  Mary,"  I  answered,  grow 
ing  insane  under  the  influence  of  her  fascinations,  "if  I 
could  only  believe  you." 

"  Give  me  your  lips,  Malcolm,"  she  whispered,  "  give  me 
your  lips. — Again,  my  Malcolm. — Ah,  now  you  believe  me." 

The  lying  logic  of  a  wanton  kiss  is  irresistible.  I  was 
drunk  and,  alas !  I  was  convinced.  When  I  think  of  that 
time,  Samson  is  my  only  comfort  —  Samson  and  a  few 
hundred  million  other  fools,  who  like  Samson  and  me  have 
been  wheedled,  kissed,  and  duped  into  misery  and  ruin. 

I  said :  "I  do  believe  you,  Mary.  I  beg  you  to  forgive 
me  for  having  doubted  you.  You  have  been  traduced  and 
brutally  misused." 

"  It  is  sweet  to  hear  you  speak  those  words.  But  it  is 
better  to  think  that  at  last  we  have  come  together  with 
nothing  to  part  us  save  that  I  am  a  prisoner  in  the  hands 
of  my  vindictive,  jealous  cousin.  I  thank  God  that  my 
kingdom  of  Scotland  has  been  taken  from  me.  I  ever 
hated  the  Scots.  The"y  are  an  ignorant,  unkempt,  wry- 
necked,  stubborn,  filthy  race.  But,  above  all,  my  crown 
stood  between  you  and  me.  I  may  now  be  a  woman,  and 
were  it  not  for  Elizabeth,  you  and  I  could  yet  find  solace 
in  each  other  for  all  our  past  sufferings.  Malcolm,  I  have 
a  sweet  thought.  If  I  could  escape  to  fair,  beautiful 
France,  all  would  be  happiness  for  us.  You  could  claim 
your  mother's  estates  in  the  balmy  south,  and  we  might 


332  DOROTHY    VERNON 

live  upon  them.  Help  me,  my  Malcolm,  to  escape,  and 
your  reward  shall  be  greater  and  sweeter  than  man  ever 
before  received  from  woman." 

I  struggled  against  her  blandishments  for  a  moment, 
but  I  was  lost. 

"You  shall  escape  and  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  I. 

Man  needs  to  make  but  one  little  prayer  to  God,  "  Lead 
me  not  into  temptation."  That  prayer  answered,  all  else 
of  good  will  follow. 

The  morning  sun  had  just  begun  to  rise  over  Bowling 
Green  Hill  and  the  shadows  of  the  night  were  fleeing  be 
fore  his  lances,  when  our  cavalcade  entered  the  grounds  of 
Haddon  at  the  dove-cote.  If  there  were  two  suns  revolv 
ing  about  the  earth,  one  to  shine  upon  us  by  night  and 
one  by  day,  much  evil  would  be  averted.  Men  do  evil  in 
the  dark  because  others  cannot  see  them ;  they  think  evil 
in  the  dark  because  they  cannot  see  themselves. 

With  the  first  faint  gray  of  dawn  there  came  to  me 
thoughts  of  Madge.  I  had  forgotten  her,  but  her  familiar 
spirit,  the  light,  brought  me  back  to  its  fair  mistress. 

When  our  coach  reached  the  stone  bridge  I  looked  up 
to  the  Hall  and  saw  Madge  standing  at  the  open  casement 
of  the  tower  window.  She  had  been  watching  there  all 
night,  I  learned,  hoping  for  our  speedy  and  safe  return, 
and  had  been  warned  of  our  approach  by  the  noise  of  the 
tramping  guard.  I  drew  back  from  the  coach  window, 
feeling  that  I  was  an  evil  shade  slinking  away  before  the 
spirit  of  light. 


CHAPTER   XV 

LIGHT 

DOROTHY  had  awakened  while  we  were  entering 
Rowsley,  and  I  was  glad  that  Mary  could  not 
touch  me  again. 

When  our  coach  reached  the  stone  steps  of  the  entrance 
tower  we  found  Sir  George,  Lady  Crawford,  and  Madge 
waiting  to  receive  us.  The  steps  and  the  path  leading  to 
them  had  been  carpeted  with  soft  rugs,  and  Mary,  although 
a  prisoner,  was  received  with  ceremonies  befitting  her 
rank.  It  was  a  proud  day  for  Sir  George  when  the  roof 
of  his  beautiful  Hall  sheltered  the  two  most  famous  queens 
of  Christendom. 

Sir  George  assisted  Mary  from  the  coach  most  gra 
ciously,  and  in  knightly  fashion  led  her  to  Lady  Crawford 
and  Madge,  who  were  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  tower 
steps.  Due  presentations  were  made,  and  the  ladies  of 
Haddon  having  kissed  the  queen's  hand,  Mary  went  into 
the  Hall  upon  the  arm  of  his  Majesty,  the  King  of  the 
Peak,  who  stepped  forward  most  proudly. 

His  resentment  against  Dorothy  was  for  the  moment 
neutralized  by  the  great  honor  of  which  his  house  and 
himself  were  the  recipients. 

John  and  Lord  Rutland  were  taken  to  the  dungeon. 

I  assisted  Dorothy  from  the  coach  and  led  her  to  Madge, 
who  was  waiting  for  us  upon  the  lowest  of  the  steps  lead 
ing  to  the  entrance  tower  doorway.  Dorothy  took  Madge's 

333 


334  DOROTHY    VERNON 

outstretched  hand ;  but  Madge,  by  some  strange  instinct, 
knowing  of  my  presence,  turned  her  face  toward  me.  I 
could  not  lift  my  eyes  to  her  face,  nor  could  I  endure 
to  remain  in  her  presence.  While  we  were  ascending  the 
steps  she  held  out  her  hand  to  me  and  said  :  — 

"Is  all  well  with  you,  Malcolm?"  Her  voice  was  full 
of  tender  concern,  and  it  pained  me  to  the  heart  to  hear 
her  speak  kindly  to  me,  who  was  so  unworthy  of  her 
smallest  thought. 

"Yes,  Lady  —  yes,  Madge,"  I  responded;  but  she 
knew  from  the  tones  of  my  voice  that  all  was  not  right 
with  me. 

"  I  fear,  Malcolm,  that  you  do  not  tell  me  the  truth. 
You  will  come  to  me  soon  ? "  she  asked. 

"  I  may  not  be  able  to  go  to  you  soon,"  I  answered, 
"but  I  will  do  so  at  the  first  opportunity." 

The  torture  of  her  kindness  was  almost  unbearable  to 
me.  One  touch  of  her  hand,  one  tone  of  her  rare  voice, 
had  made  me  loathe  myself.  The  powers  of  evil  cannot 
stand  for  one  moment  in  a  fair  conflict  with  the  powers 
of  good.  I  felt  that  I,  alone,  was  to  blame  for  my  treason 
to  Madge;  but  despite  my  effort  at  self-condemnation 
there  was  an  under-consciousness  that  Mary  Stuart  was 
to  blame,  and  I  hated  her  accordingly.  Although  Madge's 
presence  hurt  me,  it  was  not  because  I  wished  to  conceal 
my  conduct  from  her.  I  knew  that  I  could  be  happy  again 
only  after  I  had  confessed  to  her  and  had  received  for 
giveness. 

Madge,  who  was  blind  of  sight,  led  Dorothy,  who  was 
piteously  blind  of  soul,  and  the  two  girls  went  to  their 
apartments. 

Curiosity  is  not  foreign  even  to  the  royal  female  breast, 
and  while  Mary  Stuart  was  entering  Haddon  Hall,  I  saw 
the  luminous  head  of  the  Virgin  Queen  peeked  out  at  a 
casement  on  the  second  floor  watching  her  rival  with  all 


LIGHT  335 

the  curiosity  of  a  Dutch  woman  sitting  by  her  window 
mirror. 

I  went  to  my  room  in  Eagle  Tower,  fell  upon  my  bed, 
and  abandoned  myself  to  an  anguish  of  soul  which  was 
almost  luxurious.  I  shall  not  tease  you  with  the  details 
of  my  mental  and  moral  processes.  I  hung  in  the  balance 
a  long  time  undetermined  what  course  I  should  pursue. 
The  difference  between  the  influence  of  Mary  and  the 
effect  wrought  by  Madge  was  the  difference  between 
the  intoxication  and  the  exhilaration  of  wine.  Following 
the  intoxication  of  Mary's  presence  ever  came  a  torturing 
reaction,  while  the  exhilarating  influence  of  Madge  gave 
health  and  strength.  I  chose  the  latter.  I  have  always 
been  glad  I  reached  that  determination  without  the  aid 
of  any  impulse  outside  of  myself ;  for  events  soon  hap 
pened  which  again  drove  all  faith  in  Mary  from  my  heart 
forever.  Those  events  would  have  forced  me  to  abandon 
my  trust  in  her;  but  mind  you,  I  took  my  good  resolve 
from  inclination  rather  than  necessity  before  I  learned  of 
Mary's  perfidy. 

The  events  of  the  night  had  exhausted  Dorothy,  and 
she  was  confined  to  her  bed  by  illness  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life.  She  believed  that  she  was  dying,  and  she  did  not 
want  to  live.  I  did  not  go  to  her  apartments.  Madge 
remained  with  her,  and  I,  coward-like,  feared  to  face  the 
girl  to  whom  I  had  been  untrue. 

Dorothy's  one  and  only  desire,  of  course,  was  to  see 
John,  but  that  desire  for  a  time  seemed  impossible  of 
accomplishment. 

Elizabeth,  Cecil,  Leicester,  and  Sir  William  St.  Loe 
were  in  secret  consultation  many  times  during  three  or 
four  days  and  nights.  Occasionally  Sir  George  was 
called  into  their  councils,  and  that  flattering  attention  so 
wrought  upon  the  old  man's  pride  that  he  was  a  slave 
to  the  queen's  slightest  wish,  and  was  more  tyrannical 


336  DOROTHY    VERNON 

and  dictatorial  than  ever  before  to  all  the  rest  of  man 
kind.  There  were,  however,  two  persons  besides  the  queen 
before  whom  Sir  George  was  gracious :  one  of  these 
was  Mary  Stuart,  whose  powers  of  fascination  had  been 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  King  of  the  Peak  most  effec 
tively.  The  other  was  Leicester,  to  whom,  as  my  cousin 
expressed  it,  he  hoped  to  dispose  of  that  troublesome  and 
disturbing  body  —  Dorothy.  These  influences,  together  with 
the  fact  that  his  enemies  of  Rutland  were  in  the  Haddon 
dungeon,  had  given  Sir  George  a  spleen-vent,  and  Dorothy, 
even  in  the  face  of  her  father's  discovery  that  Manners 
was  her  mysterious  lover,  had  for  once  a  respite  from  Sir 
George's  just  and  mighty  wrath. 

The  purpose  of  Elizabeth's  many  councils  of  war  was 
to  devise  some  means  of  obtaining  from  John  and  his 
father,  information  concerning  the  plot  which  had  resulted 
in  bringing  Mary  Stuart  into  England.  The  ultimate  pur 
pose  of  Mary's  visit,  Elizabeth's  counsellors  firmly  believed 
to  be  the  dethronement  of  the  English  queen  and  the 
enthronement  of  her  Scottish  cousin.  Elizabeth,  in  her 
heart,  felt  confident  that  John  and  his  father  were  not 
parties  to  the  treasonable  plot,  although  she  had  been 
warned  against  each  of  them.  Cecil  and  Sir  William 
St.  Loe  also  secretly  held  to  that  opinion,  though  neither 
of  them  expressed  it.  Elizabeth  was  conscious  of  having 
given  to  John  while  at  London  court  an  intimation  that 
she  would  be  willing  that  Mary  should  visit  England. 
Of  such  intimation  Cecil  and  Sir  William  had  no  knowl 
edge,  though  they,  together  with  many  persons  of  the 
court,  believed  that  Elizabeth  was  not  entirely  averse  to 
Mary's  presence. 

Lord  Rutland  and  John  were  questioned  by  Cecil  in  the 
hope  of  obtaining  some  hints  which  might  lead  to  the  detec 
tion  of  those  concerned  in  the  chief  plot,  provided  such  plot 
existed.  But  Lord  Rutland  knew  nothing  of  the  affair 


LIGHT  337 

except  that  John  had  brought  the  Scottish  queen  from 
Scotland,  and  John  persisted  in  the  statement  that  he  had 
no  confederate  and  that  he  knew  nothing  of  any  plot  to 
place  Mary  upon  the  English  throne. 

John  said :  "  I  received  from  Queen  Mary's  friends  in 
Scotland  letters  asking  me  to  meet  her  on  the  border,  and 
requesting  me  to  conduct  her  to  my  father's  castle.  Those 
letters  mentioned  no  Englishman  but  myself,  and  they 
stated  that  Queen  Mary's  flight  to  England  was  to  be 
undertaken  with  the  tacit  consent  of  our  gracious  queen. 
That  fact,  the  letters  told  me,  our  queen  wished  should 
not  be  known.  There  were  reasons  of  state,  the  letters 
said,  which  made  it  impolitic  for  our  queen  openly  to 
invite  Queen  Mary  to  seek  sanctuary  in  England.  I  re 
ceived  those  letters  before  I  left  Westminster.  Upon  the 
day  when  I  received  them,  I  heard  our  gracious  queejn  say 
that  she  would  gladly  invite  Queen  Mary  to  England,  were 
it  not  for  the  fact  that  such  an  invitation  would  cause 
trouble  between  her  and  the  regent,  Murray.  Her  Majesty 
at  the  same  time  intimated  that  she  would  be  glad  if  Mary 
Stuart  should  come  to  England  uninvited."  John  turned 
to  Elizabeth,  "  I  beg  your  Majesty,  in  justice,  to  ratify  my 
words." 

Elizabeth  hesitated  for  a  moment  after  John's  appeal ; 
but  her  love  of  justice  came  to  her  rescue  and  she  hung 
her  head  as  she  said,  "You  are  right,  Sir  John."  Then 
she  looked  her  counsellors  in  the  face  and  said,  "  I  well 
remember  that  I  so  expressed  myself." 

"  In  truth,"  said  John,  "  I  having  only  an  hour  before 
received  the  letter  from  Scotland,  believed  that  your  Maj 
esty's  words  were  meant  for  my  ear.  I  felt  that  your 
Majesty  knew  of  the  letters,  and  I  thought  that  I  should  be 
carrying  out  your  royal  wishes  should  I  bring  Queen  Mary 
into  England  without  your  knowledge." 

The  queen  responded  :  "  I  then  felt  that  I  wished  Queen 


338  DOROTHY    VERNON 

Mary  to  seek  refuge  in  my  kingdom,  but  so  many  untow 
ard  events  have  transpired  since  I  spoke  on  the  subject 
at  Westminster  that  I  have  good  cause  to  change  my  mind, 
though  I  easily  understand  how  you  might  have  been  mis 
led  by  my  words." 

"I  am  sure,"  replied  John,  "that  your  Majesty  has  had 
good  cause  to  change  your  mind ;  but  I  protest  in  all  sin 
cerity  that  I  considered  the  Scottish  letters  to  be  a  com 
mand  from  my  queen." 

Elizabeth  was  a  strange  combination  of  paradoxes.  No 
one  could  be  truer  than  she  to  a  fixed  determination  once 
taken.  No  one  could  be  swayed  by  doubt  so  easily  as  she 
to  change  her  mind  sixty  times  in  the  space  of  a  minute. 
During  one  moment  she  was  minded  to  liberate  John  and 
Lord  Rutland ;  in  the  next  she  determined  to  hold  them  in 
prison,  hoping  to  learn  from  them  some  substantial  fact 
concerning  the  plot  which,  since  Mary's  arrival  in  England, 
had  become  a  nightmare  to  her.  But,  with  all  her  va 
garies  the  Virgin  Queen  surely  loved  justice.  That  quality, 
alone,  makes  a  sovereign  great.  Elizabeth,  like  her  mother, 
Anne  Boleyn,  had  great  faith  in  her  personal  beauty  ;  like 
her  father,  she  had  unbounded  confidence  in  her  powers  of 
mind.  She  took  great  pride  in  the  ease  with  which  she 
controlled  persons.  She  believed  that  no  one  was  so  adroit 
as  Elizabeth  Tudor  in  extracting  secrets  from  others,  and 
in  unravelling  mysterious  situations,  nor  so  cunning  in 
hunting  out  plots  and  in  running  down  plotters.  In  all 
such  matters  she  delighted  to  act  secretly  and  alone. 

During  the  numerous  councils  held  at  Haddon,  Elizabeth 
allowed  Cecil  to  question  John  to  his  heart's  content;  but 
while  she  listened  she  formulated  a  plan  of  her  own  which 
she  was  sure  would  be  effective  in  extracting  all  the  truth 
from  John,  if  all  the  truth  had  not  already  been  extracted. 

Elizabeth  kept  her  cherished  plan  to  herself.  It  was 
this :  — 


LIGHT  339 

She  would  visit  Dorothy,  whom  she  knew  to  be  ill,  and 
would  by  her  subtle  art  steal  from  John's  sweetheart  all 
that  the  girl  knew  of  the  case.  If  John  had  told  Dorothy 
part  of  the  affair  concerning  Mary  Stuart,  he  had  probably 
told  her  all,  and  Elizabeth  felt  confident  that  she  could 
easily  pump  the  girl  dry.  She  did  not  know  Dorothy. 

Accordingly  our  queen,  Elizabeth,  the  adroit,  went  to 
Dorothy's  room  under  the  pretence  of  paying  the  girl  a 
gracious  visit.  Dorothy  wished  to  arise  and  receive  her 
royal  guest,  but  Elizabeth  said  gently :  — 

"  Do  not  arise,  Dorothy  ;  rest  quietly,  and  I  will  sit  here 
beside  you  on  the  bed.  I  have  come  to  tell  you  that  you 
must  recover  your  health  at  once.  We  miss  you  greatly 
in  the  Hall." 

No  one  could  be  more  gracious  than  Elizabeth  when  the 
humor  was  upon  her ;  though,  in  truth,  the  humor  was 
often  lacking. 

"  Let  us  send  all  save  you  and  me  from  the  room," 
said  the  queen,  "  that  we  may  have  a  quiet  little  chat 
together." 

All  who  were  in  the  room  save  Dorothy  and  Elizabeth 
of  course  departed  at  once. 

When  the  door  was  closed,  the  queen  said :  "  I  wish  to 
thank  you  for  telling  me  of  the  presence  of  her  Scottish 
Majesty  at  Rutland.  You  know  there  is  a  plot  on  foot  to 
steal  my  throne  from  me." 

"  God  forbid  that  there  should  be  such  a  plot,"  replied 
Dorothy,  resting  upon  her  elbow  in  the  bed. 

"  I  fear  it  is  only  too  true  that  there  is  such  a  plot,"  re 
turned  Elizabeth,  "  and  I  owe  you  a  great  debt  of  gratitude 
for  warning  me  of  the  Scottish  queen's  presence  in  my 
kingdom." 

"  I  hope  the  danger  will  be  averted  from  your  Majesty," 
said  Dorothy ;  "  but  that  which  I  did  will  cause  my  death 
—  it  will  kill  me.  No  human  being  ever  before  has  lived 


340  DOROTHY    VERNON 

through  the  agony  I  have  suffered  since  that  terrible 
night.  I  was  a  traitress.  I  betrayed  the  man  who  is 
dearer  to  me  than  my  immortal  soul.  He  says  that  he  for 
gives  me,  but  your  Majesty  knows  that  my  fault  is  beyond 
forgiveness." 

"  Sir  John  is  a  noble  gentleman,  child,"  said  the  queen. 
"  I  hope  that  he  is  loyal  to  me,  but  I  fear —  I  fear." 

"  Do  not  doubt,  do  not  fear,  my  queen,"  returned  Doro 
thy,  eagerly;  "there  is  nothing  false  in  him." 

"  Do  you  love  him  deeply,  little  one  ? "  asked  the  queen. 

"  No  words  can  tell  you  my  love  for  him,"  answered  the 
girl.  "  I  feel  shame  to  say  that  he  has  taken  even  the  holy 
God's  place  in  my  heart.  Perhaps  it  is  for  that  sin  that 
God  now  punishes  me." 

"  Fear  not  on  that  score,  Dorothy,"  replied  the  queen. 
"  God  will  not  punish  you  for  feeling  the  love  which  He 
Himself  has  put  into  your  heart.  I  would  willingly  give 
my  crown  could  I  feel  such  love  for  a  worthy  man  who 
would  in  return  love  me  for  myself.  But  I  cannot  feel,  nor 
can  I  have  faith.  Self-interest,  which  is  so  dominant  in  all 
men,  frightens  me,  and  I  doubt  their  vows." 

"  Surely,  any  man  would  love  you  for  your  own  sake," 
said  Dorothy,  tenderly. 

"  It  may  be  that  you  speak  truly,  child ;  but  I  cannot 
know  when  men's  vows  are  true  nor  when  they  are  false. 
The  real  trouble  is  within  myself.  If  I  could  but  feel 
truly,  I  could  interpret  truthfully." 

"Ah,  your  Majesty,"  interrupted  Dorothy,  "you  do  not 
know  the  thing  for  which  you  are  wishing ;  it  is  a  torture 
worse  than  death ;  it  is  an  ecstasy  sweeter  than  heaven. 
It  is  killing  me.  I  pity  you,  though  you  are  a  queen,  if 
you  have  never  felt  it." 

"  Would  you  do  anything  I  might  ask  of  you,  if  you 
could  thereby  save  Sir  John's  life? "  asked  the  queen. 

"  Ah,  I  would  gladly  give  my  soul  to  save  him,"  responded 


LIGHT  341 

Dorothy,  with  tears  in  her  eyes  and  eagerness  in  her  voice. 
"  Oh,  my  queen,  do  not  lead  me  to  hope,  and  then  plunge 
me  again  into  despair.  Give  me  no  encouragement  unless 
you  mean  to  free  him.  As  for  my  part,  take  my  life  and 
spare  John's.  Kill  me  by  torture,  burn  me  at  the  stake, 
stretch  me  upon  the  rack  till  my  joints  are  severed  and 
my  flesh  is  torn  asunder.  Let  me  die  by  inches,  my  queen  ; 
but  spare  him,  oh,  spare  him,  and  do  with  me  as  you  will. 
Ask  from  me  what  you  wish.  Gladly  will  I  do  all  that  you 
may  demand ;  gladly  will  I  welcome  death  and  call  it  sweet, 
if  I  can  thereby  save  him.  The  faint  hope  your  Majesty's 
words  hold  out  makes  me  strong  again.  Come,  come,  take 
my  life;  take  all  that  I  can  give.  Give  me  him." 

"  Do  you  believe  that  I  am  an  ogress  thirsting  for  blood, 
Dorothy,  that  you  offer  me  your  life  for  his  ?  You  can 
purchase  Sir  John's  life  at  a  much  smaller  cost."  Dorothy 
rose  to  the  queen  with  a  cry,  and  put  her  arms  about  her 
neck.  "  You  may  purchase  his  freedom,"  continued  the 
queen,  "  and  you  may  serve  your  loving  queen  at  one  and 
the  same  time,  if  you  wish  to  do  so." 

Dorothy  had  sunk  back  into  the  bed,  and  Elizabeth  was 
sitting  close  by  her  side ;  but  when  the  queen  spoke  she 
turned  her  head  on  the  pillow  and  kissed  the  royal  hand 
which  was  resting  upon  the  coverlid. 

"Ah,  you  are  so  good,  so  true,  and  so  beautiful,"  said 
Dorothy. 

Her  familiarity  toward  the  queen  was  sweet  to  the 
woman,  to  whom  it  was  new. 

Dorothy  did  not  thank  the  queen  for  her  graciousness. 
She  did  not  reply  directly  to  her  offer.  She  simply 
said :  — 

"  John  has  told  me  many  times  that  he  was  first  attracted 
to  me  because  I  resembled  you." 

The  girl  had  ample  faith  in  her  own  beauty,  and  knew 
full  well  the  subtle  flattery  which  lay  in  her  words.  "  He 


342  DOROTHY    VERNON 

said,"  she  continued,  "  that  my  hair  in  some  faint  degree 
resembled  yours,  but  he  said  it  was  not  of  so  beautiful  a 
hue.  I  have  loved  my  hair  ever  since  the  day  he  told  me 
that  it  resembled  your  Majesty's."  The  girl  leaned  forward 
toward  the  queen  and  gently  kissed  the  royal  locks.  They 
no  more  resembled  Dorothy's  hair  than  brick  dust  resembles 
the  sheen  of  gold. 

The  queen  glanced  at  the  reflection  of  her  hair  in  the 
mirror  and  it  flatly  contradicted  Dorothy.  But  the  girl's 
words  were  backed  by  Elizabeth's  vanity,  and  the  adroit 
flattery  went  home. 

"  Ah,  my  child,"  exclaimed  her  Majesty  softly,  as  she 
leaned  forward  and  kissed  Dorothy's  fair  cheek. 

Dorothy  wept  gently  for  a  moment  and  familiarly  rested 
her  face  upon  the  queen's  breast.  Then  she  entwined 
her  white  arms  about  Elizabeth's  neck  and  turned  her 
glorious  eyes  up  to  the  queen's  face  that  her  Majesty 
might  behold  their  wondrous  beauty  and  feel  the  flattery 
of  the  words  she  was  about  to  utter. 

"  He  said  also,"  continued  Dorothy,  "  that  my  eyes  in 
some  slight  degree  resembled  your  Majesty's,  but  he  quali 
fied  his  compliment  by  telling  me  —  he  did  not  exactly  tell 
me  that  my  eyes  were  not  so  large  and  brilliant  as  your 
Majesty's,  for  he  was  making  love  to  me,  and  of  course  he 
would  not  have  dared  to  say  that  my  eyes  were  not  the 
most  perfect  on  earth ;  but  he  did  say  that  —  at  least  I 
know  that  he  meant  —  that  my  eyes,  while  they  resembled 
yours,  were  hardly  so  glorious,  and  —  and  I  am  very 
jealous  of  your  Majesty.  John  will  be  leaving  me  to 
worship  at  your  feet." 

Elizabeth's  eyes  were  good  enough.  The  French  called 
them  "  marcassin,"  that  is,  wild  boar's  eyes.  They  were 
little  and  sparkling ;  they  were  not  luminous  and  large 
like  Dorothy's,  and  the  girl's  flattery  was  rank.  Elizabeth, 
however,  saw  Dorothy's  eyes  and  believed  her  words  rather 


LIGHT  343 

than  the  reply  of  the  lying  mirror,  and  her  Majesty's  heart 
was  soft  from  the  girl's  kneading.  Consider,  I  pray  you, 
the  serpent-like  wisdom  displayed  by  Dorothy's  method  of 
attack  upon  the  queen.  She  did  not  ask  for  John's  liberty. 
She  did  not  seek  it.  She  sought  only  to  place  John  softly 
on  Elizabeth's  heart.  Some  natures  absorb  flattery  as  the 
desert  sands  absorb  the  unfrequent  rain,  and  Elizabeth  — 
but  I  will  speak  no  ill  of  her.  She  is  the  greatest  and  the 
best  sovereign  England  has  ever  had.  May  God  send  to 
my  beloved  country  others  like  her.  She  had  many  small 
shortcomings;  but  I  have  noticed  that  those  persons  who 
spend  their  evil  energies  in  little  faults  have  less  force  left 
for  greater  ones.  I  will  show  you  a  mystery  :  Little  faults 
are  personally  more  disagreeable  and  rasping  to  us  than 
great  ones.  Like  flying  grains  of  sand  upon  a  windy  day, 
they  vex  us  constantly.  Great  faults  come  like  an  avalanche, 
but  they  come  less  frequently,  and  we  often  admire  their  pos 
sessor,  who  sooner  or  later  is  apt  to  become  our  destroyer. 

"  I  can  hardly  tell  you,"  said  Dorothy  in  response  to 
a  question  by  Elizabeth,  "  I  can  hardly  tell  you  why  I 
informed  your  Majesty  of  Queen  Mary's  presence  at  Rut 
land.  I  did  it  partly  for  love  of  your  Majesty  and  partly 
because  I  was  jealous  of  that  white,  plain  woman  from 
Scotland." 

"She  is  not  a  plain  woman,  is  she?"  said  Elizabeth, 
delighted  to  hear  Mary  of  Scotland  so  spoken  of  for  once. 
One  way  to  flatter  some  women  is  to  berate  those  whom 
they  despise  or  fear.  Elizabeth  loved  Dorothy  better  for 
the  hatred  which  the  girl  bore  to  Mary.  Both  stood  upon 
a  broad  plane  of  mutual  sympathy  —  jealousy  of  the  same 
woman.  It  united  the  queen  and  the  maiden  in  a  common 
heart-touching  cause. 

Dorothy's  confidence  grew  apace.  "  She  is  plain," 
replied  Dorothy,  poutingly.  "  She  appears  plain,  colorless, 
and  repulsive  by  the  side  of  your  Majesty." 


344  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  No,  no,  Dorothy,  that  cannot  be,"  returned  Queen 
Elizabeth,  gently  patting  Dorothy's  cheek  and  glancing 
stealthily  at  the  reflection  of  her  own  face  in  the  mirror. 
At  this  point  Dorothy  considered  that  the  time  had  come 
for  a  direct  attack. 

"  Your  Majesty  need  have  no  fear  of  a  plot  to  place 
Queen  Mary  upon  your  throne.  The  English  people 
would  not  endure  her  wicked  pale  face  for  a  moment." 

"But  there  is  such  a  plot  in  existence,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"What  you  say  may  be  true,"  returned  Dorothy;  "but, 
your  Majesty,  John  is  not  in  the  plot,  and  he  knows  nothing 
of  it." 

"  I  hope  —  I  believe  —  he  is  not  in  the  plot,"  said  Eliza 
beth,  "but  I  fear—" 

The  girl  kissed  the  sleeve  of  Elizabeth's  gown,  and  then 
she  drew  the  queen  closer  to  her  and  kissed  her  hair  and 
her  face. 

"  Ah,  my  beauteous  queen,"  said  Dorothy,  "  I  thank  you 
for  those  words.  You  must  know  that  John  loves  you, 
and  is  your  loyal  subject.  Take  pity  upon  me.  Help  me. 
Hold  out  your  gracious  hand  and  lift  me  from  my  despair." 

Dorothy  slipped  from  the  bed  and  fell  on  her  knees, 
burying  her  face  in  the  queen's  lap. 

Elizabeth  was  touched  by  the  girl's  appeal,  and  caress 
ingly  stroked  her  hair,  as  she  said :  "  I  believe  he  is  inno 
cent,  but  I  fear  he  knows  or  suspects  others  who  harbor 
treasonable  designs.  Tell  me,  Dorothy,  do  you  know  of 
any  such  persons  ?  If  you  can  tell  me  their  names,  you 
will  serve  your  queen,  and  will  save  your  lover.  No  harm 
shall  come  to  Sir  John,  and  no  one  save  myself  shall  have 
knowledge  of  any  word  that-you  may  speak.  If  I  do  not 
learn  the  names  of  the  traitors  through  you  or  through 
Sir  John,  I  may  be  compelled  to  hold  him  a  prisoner  until 
I  discover  them.  If  through  you  I  learn  them,  Sir  John 
shall  go  free  at  once." 


LIGHT  345 

"  Gladly,  for  your  Majesty's  sake  alone  would  I  tell  you 
the  names  of  such  traitorous  men,  did  I  know  them  ;  " 
replied  Dorothy,  "  and  thrice  gladly  would  I  do  so  if  I 
might  thereby  liberate  John.  Your  Majesty  must  see  that 
these  motives  are  strong  enough  to  induce  me  to  speak  if 
I  knew  aught  to  tell  you.  I  would  betray  the  whole  world 
to  save  him,  of  that  you  may  be  sure.  But  alas !  I  know 
no  man  whom  I  can  betray.  John  told  me  nothing  of  his 
expedition  to  the  Scottish  border  save  what  was  in  two 
letters  which  he  sent  to  me.  One  of  these  I  received 
before  he  left  Rutland,  and  the  other  after  his  return." 

She  fetched  the  letters  to  the  queen,  who  read  them 
carefully. 

"  Perhaps  if  I  were  to  see  him,  he  might,  upon  my  impor 
tunity,  tell  me  all  he  knows  concerning  the  affair  and  those 
connected  with  it  if  he  knows  anything  more  than  he  has 
already  told,"  said  Dorothy,  by  a  great  effort  suppressing 
her  eagerness.  "  I  am  sure,  your  Majesty,  he  would  tell 
me  all.  Should  he  tell  me  the  names  of  any  persons  con 
nected  with  any  treasonable  plot,  I  will  certainly  tell  you. 
It  would  be  base  in  me  again  to  betray  John's  confidence ; 
but  your  Majesty  has  promised  me  his  life  and  liberty,  and 
to  obtain  those  I  would  do  anything,  however  evil  it  might 
be.  If  I  may  see  John,  I  promise  to  learn  all  that  he 
knows,  if  he  knows  anything ;  and  I  also  promise  to  tell 
you  word  for  word  all  that  he  says." 

The  girl  felt  safe  in  making  these  promises,  since  she 
was  sure  that  John  knew  nothing  of  a  treasonable 
character. 

The  queen,  thinking  that  she  had  adroitly  led  Dorothy 
up  to  making  the  offer,  said,  "  I  accept  the  conditions. 
Be  in  readiness  to  visit  Sir  John,  upon  my  command." 

Thus  the  compact  was  sealed,  and  the  queen,  who 
thought  herself  wise,  was  used  by  the  girl,  who  thought 
herself  simple. 


346  DOROTHY    VERNON 

For  the  purpose  of  hiding  her  exultation,  Dorothy 
appeared  to  be  ill,  but  when  the  queen  passed  out  at  the 
door  and  closed  it  behind  her,  the  girl  sprang  from  the  bed 
and  danced  around  the  room  as  if  she  were  a  bear-baiter. 
From  the  depths  of  despair  she  flew  to  the  pinnacle  of 
hope.  She  knew,  however,  that  she  must  conceal  her 
happiness ;  therefore  she  went  back  to  bed  and  waited 
impatiently  the  summons  of  Elizabeth  requiring  her  to  go 
to  John. 

But  now  I  must  pause  to  tell  you  of  my  troubles  which 
followed  so  swiftly  upon  the  heels  of  my  fault  that  I  was 
fairly  stunned  by  them.  My  narrative  will  be  brief,  and 
I  shall  soon  bring  you  back  again  to  Dorothy. 

Queen  Mary  had  no  sooner  arrived  at  Haddon  Hall  than 
she  opened  an  attack  upon  Leicester,  somewhat  after  the 
same  plan,  I  suppose,  which  she  had  followed  with  me  in 
the  coach.  She  could  no  more  easily  resist  inviting  homage 
from  men  than  a  swallow  can  refrain  from  flying.  Thus, 
from  inclination  and  policy,  she  sought  Leicester  and  en 
deavored  by  the  pleasant  paths  of  her  blandishments  to 
lead  him  to  her  cause.  There  can  be  no  doubt  concerning 
Leicester's  wishes  in  the  premises.  Had  Mary's  cause 
held  elements  of  success,  he  would  have  joined  her;  but  he 
feared  Elizabeth,  and  he  hoped  some  day  to  share  her 
throne.  He  would,  however,  prefer  to  share  the  throne 
with  Mary. 

Mary  told  him  of  her  plans  and  hopes.  She  told  him 
that  I  had  ridden  with  Dorothy  for  the  purpose  of  rescu 
ing  John  and  herself,  and  that  I  had  promised  to  help  her 
to  escape  to  France.  She  told  him  she  would  use  me 
for  her  tool  in  making  her  escape,  and  would  discard  me 
when  once  she  should  be  safe  out  of  England.  Then 
would  come  Leicester's  turn.  Then  should  my  lord  have 
his  recompense,  and  together  they  would  regain  the  Scottish 
crown. 


LIGHT  347 

How  deeply  Leicester  became  engaged  in  the  plot  I 
cannot  say,  but  this  I  know  :  through  fear  of  Elizabeth,  or 
for  the  purpose  of  winning  her  favor,  he  unfolded  to  our 
queen  all  the  details  of  Mary's  scheme,  together  with  the 
full  story  of  my  ride  with  Dorothy  to  Rutland,  and  my 
return  with  Dorothy  and  Mary  in  the  coach.  Thereupon 
Mary  was  placed  under  strict  guard.  The  story  spread 
quickly  through  the  Hall,  and  Dawson  brought  it  to  me. 
On  hearing  it,  my  first  thought  was  of  Madge.  I  knew  it 
would  soon  reach  her.  Therefore  I  determined  to  go  to 
her  at  once  and  make  a  clean  breast  of  all  my  perfidy. 
Had  I  done  so  sooner,  I  should  at  least  have  had  the  bene 
fit  of  an  honest,  voluntary  confession ;  but  my  conscience 
had  made  a  coward  of  me,  and  the  woman  who  had  been 
my  curse  for  years  had  so  completely  disturbed  my  mind 
that  I  should  have  been  quite  as  well  off  without  any  at  all. 
It  led  me  from  one  mistake  into  another. 

After  Dawson  told  me  that  my  miserable  story  was 
known  throughout  the  Hall,  I  sought  Madge,  and  found 
her  with  Aunt  Dorothy.  She  was  weeping,  and  I  at  once 
knew  that  I  was  too  late  with  my  confession.  I  spoke  her 
name,  "  Madge,"  and  stood  by  her  side  awaiting  her  reply. 

"Is  it  true,  Malcolm?"  she  asked.  "  I  cannot  believe 
it  till  I  hear  it  from  your  lips." 

"  It  was  true,"  I  responded.  "  I  promised  to  help  Queen 
Mary  escape,  and  I  promised  to  go  with  her;  but  within 
one  hour  of  the  time  when  I  gave  my  word  I  regretted  it 
as  I  have  never  regretted  anything  else  in  all  my  life.  I 
resolved  that,  while  I  should,  according  to  my  promise, 
help  the  Scottish  queen  escape,  I  would  not  go  with  her. 
I  resolved  to  wait  here  at  H addon  to  tell  all  to  you  and  to 
our  queen,  and  then  I  would  patiently  take  my  just  punish 
ment  from  each.  My  doom  from  the  queen,  I  believed, 
would  probably  be  death  ;  but  I  feared  more  your—  God 
help  me !  It  is  useless  for  me  to  speak."  Here  I  broke 


348  DOROTHY    VERNON 

down  and  fell  upon  my  knees,  crying,  "  Madge,  Madge, 
pity  me,  pity  me !  Forgive  me  if  you  can,  and,  if  our 
queen  decrees  it,  I  shall  die  happy." 

In  my  desperation  I  caught  the  girl's  hand,  but  she 
drew  it  quickly  from  me,  and  said :  — 

"  Do  not  touch  me  !  " 

She  arose  to  her  feet,  and  groped  her  way  to  her  bed 
room.  We  were  in  Aunt  Dorothy's  room.  I  watched 
Madge  as  she  sought  with  her  outstretched  hand  the  door 
way  ;  and  when  she  passed  slowly  through  it,  the  sun  of  my 
life  seemed  to  turn  black.  Just  as  Madge  passed  from  the 
room,  Sir  William  St.  Loe,  with  two  yeomen,  entered  by 
Sir  George's  door  and  placed  irons  upon  my  wrist  and 
ankles.  I  was  led  by  Sir  William  to  the  dungeon,  and  no 
word  was  spoken  by  either  of  us. 

I  had  never  in  my  life  feared  death,  and  now  I  felt  that 
I  would  welcome  it.  When  a  man  is  convinced  that  his 
life  is  useless,  through  the  dire  disaster  that  he  is  a  fool,  he 
values  it  little,  and  is  even  more  than  willing  to  lose  it. 

Then  there  were  three  of  us  in  the  dungeon,  —  John, 
Lord  Rutland,  and  myself ;  and  we  were  all  there  because 
we  had  meddled  in  the  affairs  of  others,  and  because  Doro 
thy  had  inherited  from  Eve  a  capacity  for  insane,  unreason 
ing  jealousy. 

Lord  Rutland  was  sitting  on  the  ground  in  a  corner  of 
the  dungeon.  John,  by  the  help  of  a  projecting  stone  in 
the  masonry,  had  climbed  to  the  small  grated  opening 
which  served  to  admit  a  few  straggling  rays  of  light  into 
the  dungeon's  gloom.  He  was  gazing  out  upon  the  fair 
day,  whose  beauty  he  feared  would  soon  fade  away  from 
him  forever. 

Elizabeth's  coldness  had  given  him  no  hope.  It  had 
taken  all  hope  from  his  father. 

The  opening  of  the  door  attracted  John's  attention,  and 
he  turned  his  face  toward  me  when  I  entered.  He  had 


LIGHT  349 

been  looking  toward  the  light,  and  his  eyes,  unaccustomed 
for  the  moment  to  the  darkness,  failed  at  first  to  recognize 
of  me.  When  the  dungeon  door  had  closed  behind  me,  he 
sprang  down  from  his  perch  by  the  window,  and  came  tow 
ard  me  with  outstretched  hands.  He  said  sorrowfully:  — 

"  Malcolm,  have  I  brought  you  here,  too  ?  Why  are 
you  in  irons  ?  It  seems  that  I  arn  destined  to  bring 
calamity  upon  all  whom  I  love." 

"  It  is  a  long  story,"  I  replied  laughingly.  "  I  will  tell 
it  to  you  when  the  time  begins  to  drag ;  but  I  tell  you  now 
it  is  through  no  fault  of  yours  that  I  am  here.  No  one  is 
to  blame  for  my  misfortune  but  myself."  Then  I  con 
tinued  bitterly,  "  Unless  it  be  the  good  God  who  created 
me  a  fool." 

John  went  to  his  father's  side  and  said  :  — 

"  Sir  Malcolm  is  here,  father.  Will  you  not  rise  and 
greet  him  ? " 

John's  voice  aroused  his  father,  and  the  old  lord  came  to 
the  little  patch  of  light  in  which  I  was  standing  and  said : 
"  A  terrible  evil  has  fallen  upon  us,  Sir  Malcolm,  and  with 
out  our  fault.  I  grieve  to  learn  that  you  also  are  entangled 
in  the  web.  The  future  looks  very  dark." 

"  Cheer  up,  father,"  said  John,  taking  the  old  man's 
hand.  "  Light  will  soon  come ;  I  am  sure  it  will." 

"  I  have  tried  all  my  life  to  be  a  just  man,"  said  Lord 
Rutland.  "  I  have  failed  at  times,  I  fear,  but  I  have  tried. 
That  is  all  any  man  can  do.  I  pray  that  God  in  His  mercy 
will  soon  send  light  to  you,  John,  whatever  of  darkness  there 
may  be  in  store  for  me." 

I  thought,  "  He  will  surely  answer  this  just  man's  prayer," 
and  almost  before  the  thought  was  completed  the  dungeon 
door  turned  upon  its  hinges  and  a  great  light  came  with 
glorious  refulgence  through  the  open  portal  —  Dorothy. 

"John!" 

Never  before  did  one  word  express  so  much  of  mingled 


350  DOROTHY    VERNON 

joy  and  grief.  Fear  and  confidence,  and,  greater  than  all, 
love  unutterable  were  blended  in  its  eloquent  tones.  She 
sprang  to  John  as  the  lightning  leaps  from  cloud  to  cloud, 
and  he  caught  her  to  his  heart.  He  gently  kissed  her  hair, 
her  face  being  hidden  in  the  folds  of  his  doublet. 

"  Let  me  kneel,  John,  let  me  kneel,"  she  murmured. 

"  No,  Dorothy,  no,"  he  responded,  holding  her  closely  in 
his  arms. 

"  But  one  moment,  John,"  she  pleaded. 

"  No,  no ;  let  me  see  your  eyes,  sweet  one,"  said  John, 
trying  to  turn  her  face  upward  toward  his  own. 

"  I  cannot  yet,  John,  I  cannot.  Please  let  me  kneel  for 
one  little  moment  at  your  feet." 

John  saw  that  the  girl  would  find  relief  in  self-abasement, 
so  he  relaxed  his  arms,  and  she  sank  to  her  knees  upon  the 
dungeon  floor.  She  wept  softly  for  a  moment,  and  then 
throwing  back  her  head  with  her  old  impulsive  manner 
looked  up  into  his  face. 

"  Oh,  forgive  me,  John !  Forgive  me !  Not  that  I 
deserve  your  forgiveness,  but  because  you  pity  me." 

"  I  forgave  you  long  ago,  Dorothy.  You  had  my  full 
forgiveness  before  you  asked  it." 

He  lifted  the  weeping  girl  to  her  feet  and  the  two  clung 
together  in  silence.  After  a  pause  Dorothy  spoke  :  — 

"  You  have  not  asked  me,  John,  why  I  betrayed 
you." 

"  I  want  to  know  nothing,  Dorothy,  save  that  you  love 
me." 

"That  you  already  know.  But  you  cannot  know  how 
much  I  love  you.  I  myself  don't  know.  John,  I  seem  to 
have  turned  all  to  love.  However  much  there  is  of  me, 
that  much  there  is  of  love  for  you.  As  the  salt  is  in  every 
drop  of  the  sea,  so  love  is  in  every  part  of  my  being ;  but 
John,"  she  continued,  drooping  her  head  and  speaking 
regretfully,  "  the  salt  in  the  sea  is  not  unmixed  with  many 


LIGHT  351 

things  hurtful."  Her  face  blushed  with  shame  and  she 
continued  limpingly :  "  And  my  love  is  not  —  is  not  with 
out  evil.  Oh,  John,  I  feel  deep  shame  in  telling  you,  but 
my  love  is  terribly  jealous.  At  times  a  jealousy  comes  over 
me  so  fierce  and  so  distracting  that  under  its  influence  I 
am  mad,  John,  mad.  I  then  see  nothing  in  its  true  light ; 
my  eyes  seem  filled  with — with  blood,  and  all  things  appear 
red  or  black  and — and  —  oh  !  John,  I  pray  you  never  again 
cause  me  jealousy.  It  makes  a  demon  of  me." 

You  may  well  know  that  John  was  nonplussed. 

"  I  cause  you  jealousy  ?  "  he  asked  in  surprise.  "  When 
did  I  —  But  Dorothy  interrupted  him,  her  eyes  flashing 
darkly  and  a  note  of  fierceness  in  her  voice.  He  saw  for 
himself  the  effects  of  jealousy  upon  her. 

"  That  white  —  white  Scottish  wanton  !  God's  curse  be 
upon  her  !  She  tried  to  steal  you  from  me." 

"  Perhaps  she  did,"  replied  John,  smilingly,  "  of  that  I 
do  not  know.  But  this  I  do  know,  and  you,  Dorothy,  must 
know  it  too  henceforth  and  for  all  time  to  come.  No  woman 
can  steal  my  love  from  you.  Since  I  gave  you  my  troth  I 
have  been  true  to  you  ;  I  have  not  been  false  even  in  one 
little  thought." 

"  I  feel  sure,  John,  that  you  have  not  been  untrue  to 
me,"  said  the  girl  with  a  faint  smile  playing  about  her  lips ; 
"but  —  but  you  remember  the  strange  woman  at  Bowling 
Green  Gate  whom  you  would  have  — 

"  Dorothy,  I  hope  you  have  not  come  to  my  dungeon  for 
the  purpose  of  making  me  more  wretched  than  I  already 
am  ? " 

"  No,  no,  John,  forgive  me,"  she  cried  softly ;  "  but 
John,  I  hate  her,  I  hate  her!  and  I  want  you  to  promise 
that  you  too  will  hate  her." 

"  I  promise,"  said  John,  "though,  you  have  had  no  cause 
for  jealousy  of  Queen  Mary." 

"  Perhaps  —  not,"   she  replied    hesitatingly.      "  I    have 


352  DOROTHY    VERNON 

never  thought,"  the  girl  continued  poutingly,  "  that  you 
did  anything  of  which  I  should  be  jealous  ;  but  she  —  she 
—  oh,  I  hate  her!  Let  us  not  talk  about  her.  Jennie 
Faxton  told  me  —  I  will  talk  about  her,  and  you  shall  not 
stop  me  —  Jennie  Faxton  told  me  that  the  white  woman 
made  love  to  you  and  caused  you  to  put  your  arm  about 
her  waist  one  evening  on  the  battlements  and  — 

"Jennie  told  you  a  lie,"  said  John. 

"  Now  don't  interrupt  me,"  the  girl  cried  nervously, 
almost  ready  for  tears,  "and  I  will  try  to  tell  you  all. 
Jennie  told  me  the  — the  white  woman  looked  up  to  you 
this  fashion,"  and  the  languishing  look  she  gave  John  in 
imitation  of  Queen  Mary  was  so  beautiful  and  comical  that 
he  could  do  nothing  but  laugh  and  cover  her  face  with 
kisses,  then  laugh  again  and  love  the  girl  more  deeply  and 
yet  more  deeply  with  each  new  breath  he  drew.  Dorothy 
was  not  sure  whether  she  wanted  to  laugh  or  to  cry,  so 
she  did  both. 

"Jennie  told  me  in  the  middle  of  the  night,"  continued 
Dorothy,  "  when  all  things  seem  so  vivid  and  appear  so 
distorted  and  —  and  that  terrible  blinding  jealousy  of 
which  I  told  you  came  upon  me  and  drove  me  mad.  I 
really  thought,  John,  that  I  should  die  of  the  agony.  Oh, 
John,  if  you  could  know  the  anguish  I  suffered  that  night 
you  would  pity  me ;  you  would  not  blame  me." 

"  I  do  not  blame  you,  Dorothy." 

"No,  no,  there—  "  she  kissed  him  softly,  and  quickly 
continued :  "  I  felt  that  I  must  separate  her  from  you  at 
all  cost.  I  would  have  done  murder  to  accomplish  my 
purpose.  Some  demon  whispered  to  me,  '  Tell  Queen 
Elizabeth,'  and  —  and  oh,  John,  let  me  kneel  again." 

"  No,  no,  Dorothy,  let  us  talk  of  something  else,"  said 
John,  soothingly. 

"  In  one  moment,  John.  I  thought  only  of  the  evil  that 
would  come  to  her  —  her  of  Scotland.  I  did  not  think  of 


SHE    SANK    TO    HER    KNEES    OX    THE    DCNGEON    FLOUR." 


LIGHT  353 

the  trouble  I  would  bring  to  you,  John,  until  the  queen, 
after  asking  me  if  you  were  my  lover,  said  angrily  :  '  You 
may  soon  seek  another.'  Then,  John,  I  knew  that  I  had 
also  brought  evil  upon  you.  Then  I  did  suffer.  I  tried  to 
reach  Rutland,  and  you  know  all  else  that  happened  on 
that  terrible  night.  Now  John,  you  know  all  —  all.  I 
have  withheld  nothing.  I  have  confessed  all,  and  I  feel 
that  a  great  weight  is  taken  from  my  heart.  You  will 
not  hate  me,  will  you,  John  ? " 

He  caught  the  girl  to  his  breast  and  tried  to  turn  her 
face  toward  his. 

"  I  could  not  hate  you  if  I  would,"  he  replied,  with 
quick-coming  breath,  "  and  God  knows  I  would  not.  To 
love  you  is  the  sweetest  joy  in  life,"  and  he  softly  kissed 
the  great  lustrous  eyes  till  they  closed  as  if  in  sleep.  Then 
he  fiercely  sought  the  rich  red  lips,  waiting  soft  and  passive 
for  his  caresses,  while  the  fair  head  fell  back  upon  the  bend 
of  his  elbow  in  a  languorous,  half-conscious  sweet  sur 
render  to  his  will.  Lord  Rutland  and  I  had  turned  our 
backs  on  the  shameless  pair,  and  were  busily  discussing  the 
prospect  for  the  coming  season's  crops. 

Remember,  please,  that  Dorothy  spoke  to  John  of  Jennie 
Faxton.  Her  doing  so  soon  bore  bitter  fruit  for  me. 

Dorothy  had  been  too  busy  with  John  to  notice  any  one 
else,  but  he  soon  presented  her  to  his  father.  After  the 
old  lord  had  gallantly  kissed  her  hand,  she  turned  scorn 
fully  to  me  and  said  :  — 

"  So  you  fell  a  victim  to  her  wanton  wiles  ?  If  it  were 
not  for  Madge's  sake,  I  could  wish  you  might  hang." 

"  You  need  not  balk  your  kindly  desire  for  Madge's 
sake,"  I  answered.  "  She  cares  little  about  my  fate.  I 
fear  she  will  never  forgive  me." 

"  One  cannot  tell  what  a  woman  will  do,"  Dorothy 
replied.  "  She  is  apt  to  make  a  great  fool  of  herself  when 
it  comes  to  forgiving  the  man  she  loves." 


354  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Men  at  times  have  something  to  forgive,"  I  retorted, 
looking  with  a  smile  toward  John.  The  girl  made  no 
reply,  but  took  John's  hand  and  looked  at  him  as  if  to  say, 
"John,  please  don't  let  this  horrid  man  abuse  me." 

"  But  Madge  no  longer  cares  for  me,"  I  continued,  wish 
ing  to  talk  upon  the  theme,  "  and  your  words  do  not  apply 
to  her." 

The  girl  turned  her  back  disdainfully  on  me  and  said, 
"  You  seem  to  be  quite  as  easily  duped  by  the  woman  who 
loves  you  and  says  she  doesn't  as  by  the  one  who  does  not 
care  for  you  but  says  she  does." 

"  Damn  that  girl's  tongue !  "  thought  I ;  but  her  words, 
though  biting,  carried  joy  to  my  heart  and  light  to  my 
soul. 

After  exchanging  a  few  words  with  Lord  Rutland, 
Dorothy  turned  to  John  and  said :  — 

"  Tell  me  upon  your  knightly  honor,  John,  do  you  know 
aught  of  a  wicked,  treasonable  plot  to  put  the  Scottish 
woman  on  the  English  throne  ?  " 

I  quickly  placed  my  ringer  on  my  lips  and  touched  my 
ear  to  indicate  that  their  words  would  be  overheard  ;  for 
a  listening-tube  connected  the  dungeon  with  Sir  George's 
closet. 

"  Before  the  holy  God,  upon  my  knighthood,  by  the 
sacred  love  we  bear  each  other,  I  swear  I  know  of  no 
such  plot,"  answered  John.  "  I  would  be  the  first  to  tell 
our  good  queen  did  I  suspect  its  existence." 

Dorothy  and  John  continued  talking  upon  the  subject 
of  the  plot,  but  were  soon  interrupted  by  a  warning  knock 
upon  the  dungeon  door. 

Lord  Rutland,  whose  heart  was  like  twenty-two  carat 
gold,  soft,  pure,  and  precious,  kissed  Dorothy's  hand  when 
she  was  about  to  leave,  and  said :  "  Dear  lady,  grieve  not 
for  our  sake.  I  can  easily  see  that  more  pain  has  come  to 
you  than  to  us.  I  thank  you  for  the  great  fearless  love 


LIGHT  355 

you  bear  my  son.  It  has  brought  him  trouble,  but  it  is 
worth  its  cost.  You  have  my  forgiveness  freely,  and  I 
pray  God's  choicest  benediction  may  be  with  you." 

She  kissed  the  old  lord  and  said,  "  I  hope  some  day  to 
make  you  love  me." 

"  That  will  be  an  easy  task,"  said  his  Lordship,  gallantly. 

Dorothy  was  about  to  leave.  Just  at  the  doorway  she 
remembered  the  chief  purpose  of  her  visit ;  so  she  ran 
back  to  John,  put  her  hand  over  his  mouth  to  insure  silence, 
and  whispered  in  his  ear. 

On  hearing  Dorothy's  whispered  words,  signs  of  joy 
were  so  apparent  in  John's  face  that  they  could  not  be 
mistaken.  He  said  nothing,  but  kissed  her  hand  and  she 
hurriedly  left  the  dungeon. 

After  the  dungeon  door  closed  upon  Dorothy,  John 
went  to  his  father  and  whispered  a  few  words  to  him. 
Then  he  came  to  me,  and  in  the  same  secretive  manner 
said  :  — 

"  The  queen  has  promised  Dorothy  our  liberty." 

I  was  not  at  all  sure  that  "our  liberty  "  included  me,  —  I 
greatly  doubted  it,  —  but  I  was  glad  for  the  sake  of  my 
friends,  and,  in  truth,  cared  little  for  myself. 

Dorothy  went  from  our  dungeon  to  the  queen,  and  that 
afternoon,  according  to  promise,  Elizabeth  gave  orders  for 
the  release  of  John  and  his  father.  Sir  George,  of  course, 
was  greatly  chagrined  when  his  enemies  slipped  from  his 
grasp  ;  but  he  dared  not  show  his  ill-humor  in  the  presence 
of  the  queen  nor  to  any  one  who  would  be  apt  to  enlighten 
her  Majesty  on  the  subject. 

Dorothy  did  not  know  the  hour  when  her  lover  would 
leave  H  addon  ;  but  she  sat  patiently  at  her  window  till  at 
last  John  and  Lord  Rutland  appeared.  She  called  to 
Madge,  telling  her  of  the  joyous  event,  and  Madge, 
asked  :  — 

"  Is  Malcolm  with  them  ?  " 


356  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  No,"  replied  Dorothy,  "he  has  been  left  in  the  dungeon, 
where,  he  deserves  to  remain." 

After  a  short  pause,  Madge  said  :  — 

"  If  John  had  acted  toward  the  Scottish  queen  as  Mal 
colm  did,  would  you  forgive  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course.     I  would  forgive  him  anything." 

"  Then  why  shall  we  not  forgive  Malcolm  ? "  asked 
Madge. 

"Because  he  is  not  John,"  was  the  absurd  reply. 

"  No,"  said  Madge,  promptly  ;  "  but  he  is  '  John  '  to  me." 

"That  is  true,"  responded  Dorothy,  "and  I  will  forgive 
him  if  you  will." 

"  I  don't  believe  it  makes  much  difference  to  Malcolm 
whether  or  not  you  forgive  him,"  said  Madge,  who  was 
provoked  at  Dorothy's  condescending  offer.  "  My  forgive 
ness,  I  hope,  is  what  he  desires." 

"  That  is  true,  Madge,"  replied  Dorothy,  laughingly ; 
"but  may  not  I,  also,  forgive  him  ? " 

"  If  you  choose,"  responded  Madge,  quietly ;  "  as  for  me, 
I  know  not  what  I  wish  to  do." 

You  remember  that  Dorothy  during  her  visit  to  the  dun 
geon  spoke  of  Jennie  Faxton.  The  girl's  name  reached 
Sir  George's  ear  through  the  listening-tube  and  she  was  at 
once  brought  in  and  put  to  the  question. 

Jennie,  contrary  to  her  wont,  became  frightened  and 
told  all  she  knew  concerning  John  and  Dorothy,  includ 
ing  my  part  in  their  affairs.  In  Sir  George's  mind,  my 
bad  faith  to  him  was  a  greater  crime  than  my  treason  to 
Elizabeth,  and  he  at  once  went  to  the  queen  with  his  tale 
of  woe. 

Elizabeth,  the  most  sentimental  of  women,  had  heard 
from  Dorothy  the  story  of  her  tempestuous  love,  and  also 
of  mine,  and  the  queen  was  greatly  interested  in  the 
situation. 

I  will  try  to  be  brief. 


LIGHT  357 

Through  the  influence  of  Dorothy  and  Madge,  as  I  after 
ward  learned,  and  by  the  help  of  a  good  word  from  Cecil, 
the  queen  was  induced  to  order  my  liberation  on  condition 
that  I  should  thenceforth  reside  in  France.  So  one  morn 
ing,  three  days  after  John's  departure  from  Haddon,  I  was 
overjoyed  to  hear  the  words,  "  You  are  free." 

I  did  not  know  that  Jennie  Faxton  had  given  Sir  George 
her  large  stock  of  disturbing  information  concerning  my 
connection  with  the  affairs  of  Dorothy  and  John.  So 
when  I  left  the  dungeon,  I,  supposing  that  my  stormy 
cousin  would  be  glad  to  forgive  me  if  Queen  Elizabeth 
would,  sought  and  found  him  in  Aunt  Dorothy's  room. 
Lady  Crawford  and  Sir  George  were  sitting  near  the  fire 
and  Madge  was  standing  near  the  door  in  the  next  room 
beyond.  When  I  entered,  Sir  George  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  cried  out  angrily :  — 

"You  traitorous  dog,  the  queen  has  seen  fit  to  liberate 
you,  and  I  cannot  interfere  with  her  orders  ;  but  if  you  do 
not  leave  my  Hall  at  once  I  shall  set  the  hounds  on  you. 
Your  effects  will  be  sent  to  The  Peacock,  and  the  sooner 
you  quit  England  the  safer  you  will  be."  There  was  of 
course  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  go. 

"  You  once  told  me,  Sir  George  —  you  remember  our 
interview  at  The  Peacock  —  that  if  you  should  ever  again 
order  me  to  leave  Haddon,  I  should  tell  you  to  go  to  the 
devil.  I  now  take  advantage  of  your  land  permission,  and 
will  also  say  farewell." 

I  kissed  Aunt  Dorothy's  cheek,  took  my  leave,  and 
sought  Cecil,  from  whom  I  obtained  a  passport  to  France. 
Then  I  asked  Dawson  to  fetch  my  horse. 

I  longed  to  see  Madge  before  I  left  Haddon,  but  I  knew 
that  my  desire  could  not  be  gratified ;  so  I  determined  to 
stop  at  Rowsley  and  send  back  a  letter  to  her  which 
Dawson  undertook  to  deliver.  In  my  letter  I  would 
ask  Madge's  permission  to  return  for  her  from  France 


358  DOROTHY    VERNON 

and  to  take  her  home  with  me  as  my  wife.  After  I  had 
despatched  my  letter  I  would  wait  at  The  Peacock  for  an 
answer. 

Sore  at  heart,  I  bade  good-by  to  Dawson,  mounted  my 
horse,  and  turned  his  head  toward  the  Dove-cote  Gate.  As 
I  rode  under  Dorothy's  window  she  was  sitting  there.  The 
casement  was  open,  for  the  day  was  mild,  although  the 
season  was  little  past  midwinter.  I  heard  her  call  to  Madge, 
and  then  she  called  to  me  :  — 

"  Farewell,  Malcolm  !  Forgive  me  for  what  I  said  to  you 
in  the  dungeon.  I  was  wrong,  as  usual.  Forgive  me,  and 
God  bless  you.  Farewell !  " 

While  Dorothy  was  speaking,  and  before  I  replied, 
Madge  came  to  the  open  casement  and  called :  — 

"  Wait  for  me,  Malcolm,  I  am  going  down  to  you." 

Great  joy  is  a  wonderful  purifier,  and  Madge's  cry  fin 
ished  the  work  of  the  past  few  months  and  made  a  good 
man  of  me,  who  all  my  life  before  had  known  little  else 
than  evil. 

Soon  Madge's  horse  was  led  by  a  groom  to  the  mount 
ing  block,  and  in  a  few  minutes  she  emerged  gropingly 
from  the  great  door  of  Entrance  Tower.  Dorothy  was 
again  a  prisoner  in  her  rooms  and  could  not  come  down 
to  bid  me  farewell.  Madge  mounted,  and  the  groom  led 
her  horse  to  me  and  placed  the  reins  in  my  hands. 

"  Is  it  you,  Malcolm  ?  "  asked  Madge. 

"Yes,"  I  responded,  in  a  voice  husky  with  emotion.  "  I 
cannot  thank  you  enough  for  coming  to  say  farewell.  You 
have  forgiven  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  responded  Madge,  almost  in  tears,  "  but  I  have 
not  come  to  say  farewell." 

I  did  not  understand  her  meaning. 

"Are  you  going  to  ride  part  of  the  way  with  me  —  per 
haps  to  Rowsley  ? "  I  asked,  hardly  daring  to  hope  for  so 
much. 


LIGHT  359 

"To  France,  Malcolm,  if  you  wish  to  take  me,"  she 
responded  murmuringly. 

For  a  little  time  I  could  not  feel  the  happiness  that  had 
come  upon  me  in  so  great  a  flood.  But  when  I  had  col 
lected  my  scattered  senses,  I  said  :  — 

"  I  thank  God  that  He  has  turned  your  heart  again  to 
me.  May  I  feel  His  righteous  anger  if  ever  I  give  you 
cause  to  regret  the  step  you  are  taking." 

"  I  shall  never  regret  it,  Malcolm,"  she  answered  softly, 
as  she  held  out  her  hand  to  me. 

Then  we  rode  by  the  dove-cote,  out  from  Haddon  Hall, 
never  to  see  its  walls  again. 

We  went  to  Rutland,  whence  after  a  fortnight  we  jour 
neyed  to  France.  There  I  received  my  mother's  estates, 
and  never  for  one  moment,  to  my  knowledge,  has  Madge 
regretted  having  intrusted  her  life  and  happiness  to  me. 
I  need  not  speak  for  myself. 

Our  home  is  among  the  warm,  sunlit,  vine-covered  hills 
of  southern  France,  and  we  care  not  for  the  joys  of  golden 
streets  so  long  as  God  in  His  goodness  vouchsafes  to  us  our 
earthly  paradise.  Age,  with  the  heart  at  peace,  is  the  fair 
est  season  of  life ;  and  love,  leavened  of  God,  robs  even 
approaching  death  of  his  sting  and  makes  for  us  a  broad 
flower-strewn  path  from  the  tempestuous  sea  of  time  to 
the  calm,  sweet  ocean  of  eternity. 


CHAPTER   XVI 
LEICESTER  WAITS  AT  THE  STILE 

1  SHALL  now  tell  you  of  the  happenings  in  Haddon 
Hall  during  the  fortnight  we  spent  at  Rutland  before 
our  departure  for  France. 

We  left  Dorothy,  you  will  remember,  a  prisoner  in  her 
rooms. 

After  John  had  gone  Sir  George's  wrath  began  to 
gather,  and  Dorothy  was  not  permitted  to  depart  from 
the  Hall  for  even  a  walk  upon  the  terrace,  nor  could  she 
leave  her  own  apartments  save  when  the  queen  requested 
her  presence. 

A  few  days  after  my  departure  from  Haddon,  Sir  George 
sent  Dawson  out  through  the  adjoining  country  to  invite 
the  nobility  and  gentry  to  a  grand  ball  to  be  given  at  the 
Hall  in  honor  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  Queen  Mary  had  been 
sent  a  prisoner  to  Chatsworth. 

Tom  Shaw,  the  most  famous  piper  of  his  times,  and  a 
choice  company  of  musicians  to  play  with  him  were  hired 
for  the  occasion,  and,  in  short,  the  event  was  so  glorious 
that  its  wonders  have  been  sung  in  minstrelsy  throughout 
Derbyshire  ever  since. 

Dorothy's  imprisonment  saddened  Leicester's  heart,  and 
he  longed  to  see  her,  for  her  beauty  had  touched  him 
nearly.  Accordingly,  the  earl  one  day  intimated  to  Sir 
George  his  wish  in  terms  that  almost  bespoke  an  inten 
tion  to  ask  for  the  girl's  hand  when  upon  proper  oppor- 

360 


LEICESTER   WAITS    AT   THE   STILE   361 

tunity  the  queen's  consent  might  be  sought  and  perchance 
obtained.  His  equivocal  words  did  not  induce  Sir  George 
to  grant  a  meeting  by  which  Dorothy  might  be  compro 
mised  ;  but  a  robust  hope  for  the  ultimate  accomplishment 
of  the  "  Leicester  possibility  "  was  aroused  in  the  breast  of 
the  King  of  the  Peak,  and  from  hope  he  could,  and  soon 
did,  easily  step  to  faith.  He  saw  that  the  earl  was  a  hand 
some  man,  and  he  .believed,  at  least  he  hoped,  that  the  fas 
cinating  lord  might,  if  he  were  given  an  opportunity,  woo 
Dorothy's  heart  away  from  the  hated  scion  of  a  hated  race. 
Sir  George,  therefore,  after  several  interviews  with  the  earl, 
grew  anxious  to  give  his  Lordship  an  opportunity  to  win 
her.  But  both  Sir  George  and  my  lord  feared  Elizabeth's 
displeasure,  and  the  meeting  between  Leicester  and  the 
girl  seemed  difficult  to  contrive.  Sir  George  felt  confi 
dent  that  Dorothy  could,  if  she  would,  easily  capture  the 
great  lord  in  a  few  private  interviews ;  but  would  she  ? 
Dorothy  gave  her  father  no  encouragement  in  the  matter, 
and  took  pains  to  shun  Leicester  rather  than  to  seek  him. 

As  Dorothy  grew  unwilling,  Leicester  and  Sir  George 
grew  eager,  until  at  length  the  latter  felt  that  it  was 
almost  time  to  exert  his  parental  authority.  He  told  Aunt 
Dorothy  his  feeling  on  the  subject,  and  she  told  her  niece. 
It  was  impossible  to  know  from  what  source  Dorothy 
might  draw  inspiration  for  mischief.  It  came  to  her  with 
her  father's  half-command  regarding  Leicester. 

Winter  had  again  asserted  itself.  The  weather  was  bit 
ter  cold  and  snow  covered  the  ground  to  the  depth  of  a 
horse's  fetlock. 

The  eventful  night  of  the  grand  ball  arrived,  and  Doro 
thy's  heart  throbbed  till  she  thought  surely  it  would  burst. 

At  nightfall  guests  began  to  arrive,  and  Sir  George, 
hospitable  soul  that  he  was,  grew  boisterous  with  good 
humor  and  delight. 

The  rare  old  battlements  of  Haddon  were  ablaze  with 


362  DOROTHY    VERNON 

flambeaux,  and  inside  the  rooms  were  alight  with  waxen 
tapers.  The  long  gallery  was  brilliant  with  the  smiles  of 
bejewelled  beauty,  and  laughter,  song,  and  merriment  filled 
the  grand  old  Hall  from  terrace  to  Entrance  Tower. 
Dorothy,  of  course,  was  brought  down  from  her  prison  to 
grace  the  occasion  with  a  beauty  which  none  could  rival. 
Her  garments  were  of  soft,  clinging,  bright-colored  silks 
and  snowy  laces,  and  all  who  saw  her  agreed  that  a  crea 
ture  more  radiant  never  greeted  the  eye  of  man. 

When  the  guests  had  all  arrived,  the  pipers  in  the  bal 
cony  burst  forth  in  heart-swelling  strains  of  music,  and 
every  foot  in  the  room  longed  for  the  dance  to  begin. 

I  should  like  to  tell  you  how  Elizabeth  most  graciously 
opened  the  ball  with  his  Majesty,  the  King  of  the  Peak, 
amid  the  plaudits  of  worshipping  subjects,  and  I  should 
enjoy  describing  the  riotous  glory  which  followed,  —  for 
although  I  was  not  there,  I  know  intimately  all  that  hap 
pened,  —  but  I  will  balk  my  desire  and  tell  you  only  of 
those  things  which  touched  Dorothy. 

Leicester,  of  course,  danced  with  her,  and  during  a 
pause  in  the  figure,  the  girl  in  response  to  pleadings  which 
she  had  adroitly  incited,  reluctantly  promised  to  grant  the 
earl  the  private  interview  he  so  much  desired  if  he  could 
suggest  some  means  for  bringing  it  about.  Leicester  was 
in  raptures  over  her  complaisance  and  glowed  with  tri 
umph  and  delightful  anticipation.  But  he  could  think  of 
no  satisfactory  plan  whereby  his  hopes  might  be  brought 
to  a  happy  fruition.  He  proposed  several,  but  all  seemed 
impracticable  to  the  coy  girl,  and  she  rejected  them.  After 
many  futile  attempts  he  said  :  — 

"  I  can  suggest  no  good  plan,  mistress.  I  pray  you, 
gracious  lady,  therefore,  make  full  to  overflowing  the 
measure  of  your  generosity,  and  tell  me  how  it  may  be 
accomplished." 

Dorothy  hung  her  head  as  if  in  great  shame  and  said : 


LEICESTER   WAITS    AT  THE   STILE    363 

"  I  fear,  my  lord,  we  had  better  abandon  the  project  for  a 
time.  Upon  another  occasion  perhaps  —  " 

"No,  no,"  interrupted  the  earl,  pleadingly,  "do  not  so 
grievously  disappoint  me.  My  heart  yearns  to  have  you 
to  myself  for  one  little  moment  where  spying  eyes  cannot 
see  nor  prying  ears  hear.  It  is  cruel  in  you  to  raise  my 
hopes  only  to  cast  them  down.  I  beg  you,  tell  me  if  you 
know  in  what  manner  I  may  meet  you  privately." 

After  a  long  pause,  Dorothy  with  downcast  eyes  said, 
"  I  am  full  of  shame,  my  lord,  to  consent  to  this  meeting, 
and  then  find  the  way  to  it,  but  —  but  — "  ("Yes,  yes, 
my  Venus,  my  gracious  one,"  interrupted  the  earl)  —  "but 
if  my  father  would  permit  me  to  —  to  leave  the  Hall  for  a 
few  minutes,  I  might  —  oh,  it  is  impossible,  my  lord.  I 
must  not  think  of  it." 

"  I  pray  you,  I  beg  you,"  pleaded  Leicester.  "  Tell  me, 
at  least,  what  you  might  do  if  your  father  would  permit 
you  to  leave  the  Hall.  I  would  gladly  fall  to  my  knees, 
were  it  not  for  the  assembled  company." 

With  reluctance  in  her  manner  and  gladness  in  her 
heart,  the  girl  said  :  — 

"  If  my  father  would  permit  me  to  leave  the  Hall,  I 
might — only  for  a  moment,  meet  you  at  the  stile,  in  the 
northeast  corner  of  the  garden  back  of  the  terrace  half  an 
hour  hence.  But  he  would  not  permit  me,  and  —  and,  my 
lord,  I  ought  not  to  go  even  should  father  consent." 

"  I  will  ask  your  father's  permission  for  you.  I  will 
seek  him  at  once,"  said  the  eager  earl. 

"  No,  no,  my  lord,  I  pray  you,  do  not,"  murmured  Doro 
thy,  with  distracting  little  troubled  wrinkles  in  her  fore 
head.  Her  trouble  was  more  for  fear  lest  he  would  not 
than  for  dread  that  he  would. 

"  I  will,  I  will,"  cried  his  Lordship,  softly;  "  I  insist,  and 
you  shall  not  gainsay  me." 

The  girl's  only  assent  was  silence,  but  that  was  sufficient 


364  DOROTHY    VERNON 

for  so  enterprising  a  gallant  as  the  noble  Robert  Dudley, 
Earl  of  Leicester.  So  he  at  once  went  to  seek  Sir  George. 

The  old  gentleman,  although  anxious  to  give  Leicester  a 
chance  to  press  his  suit  with  Dorothy,  at  first  refused,  but 
Leicester  said :  — 

"  My  intentions  are  honorable,  Sir  George.  If  I  can 
win  your  daughter's  heart,  it  is  my  wish,  if  the  queen's 
consent  can  be  obtained,  to  ask  Mistress  Vernon's  hand  in 
marriage." 

Sir  George's  breast  swelled  with  pride  and  satisfaction, 
for  Leicester's  words  were  as  near  an  offer  of  marriage  as 
it  was  in  his  power  to  make.  So  the  earl  received,  for 
Dorothy,  permission  to  leave  the  Hall,  and  eagerly  carried 
it  to  her. 

"  Your  father  consents  gladly,"  said  the  earl.  "  Will 
you  meet  me  half  an  hour  hence  at  the  stile  ? " 

"  Yes,"  murmured  the  girl,  with  shamelessly  cast  down 
eyes  and  drooping  head.  Leicester  bowed  himself  away, 
and  fully  fifteen  minutes  before  the  appointed  time  left  the 
Hall  to  wait  in  the  cold  at  the  stile  for  Dorothy. 

Before  the  expiration  of  the  tedious  half  hour  our  meek 
maiden  went  to  her  father  and  with  deep  modesty  and 
affected  shame  said  :  — 

"  Father,  is  it  your  wish  that  I  go  out  of  the  Hall  for  a 
few  minutes  to  meet  —  to  meet —  "  She  apparently  could 
not  finish  the  sentence,  so  modest  and  shame-faced  was  she. 

"Yes,  Doll,  I  wish  you  to  go  on  this  condition :  if  Leices 
ter  asks  you  to  marry  him,  you  shall  consent  to  be  his 
wife." 

"  I  promise,  father,"  replied  the  dutiful  girl,  '"if  Lord 
Leicester  asks  me  this  night,  I  will  be  his  wife." 

"  That  is  well,  child,  that  is  well.  Once  more  you  are 
my  good,  obedient  daughter,  and  I  love  you.  Wear  your 
sable  cloak,  Doll;  the  weather  is  very  cold  out  of  doors." 

Her   father's   solicitude   touched    her   nearly,   and   she 


LEICESTER    WAITS    AT    THE    STILE     365 

gently  led  him  to  a  secluded  alcove  near  by,  threw  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  and  kissed  him  passionately.  The 
girl's  affection  was  sweet  to  the  old  man  who  had  been 
without  it  so  long,  and  his  eyes  grew  moist  as  he  returned 
her  caresses.  Dorothy's  eyes  also  were  filled  with  tears. 
Her  throat  was  choked  with  sobs,  and  her  heart  was  sore 
with  pain.  Poor  young  heart !  Poor  old  man  ! 

Soon  after  Dorothy  had  spoken  with  her  father  she  left 
the  Hall  by  Dorothy's  Postern.  She  was  wrapped  in  her 
sable  cloak  —  the  one  that  had  saved  John's  life  in  Aunt 
Dorothy's  room ;  but  instead  of  going  across  the  garden 
to  the  stile  where  Lord  Leicester  was  waiting,  which  was 
north  and  east  of  the  terrace,  she  sped  southward  down 
the  terrace  and  did  not  stop  till  she  reached  the  steps 
which  led  westward  to  the  lower  garden.  She  stood  on 
the  terrace  till  she  saw  a  man  running  toward  her  from  the 
postern  in  the  southwest  corner  of  the  lower  garden. 
Then  down  the  steps  she  sped  with  winged  feet,  and  out 
stretching  her  arms,  fell  upon  the  man's  breast,  whispering  : 
"John,  my  love  !  John,  my  love  !  " 

As  for  the  man  —  well,  during  the  first  minute  or  two 
he  wasted  no  time  in  speech. 

When  he  spoke  he  said  :  — 

"  We  must  not  tarry  here.  Horses  are  waiting  at  the 
south  end  of  the  footbridge.  Let  us  hasten  away  at  once.'' 

Then  happened  the  strangest  of  all  the  strange  things 
I  have  had  to  record  of  this  strange,  fierce,  tender,  and  at 
times  almost  half-savage  girl. 

Dorothy  for  months  had  longed  for  that  moment.  Her 
heart  had  almost  burst  with  joy  when  a  new-born  hope  for 
it  was  suggested  by  the  opportunities  of  the  ball  and  her 
father's  desire  touching  my  lord  of  Leicester.  But  now 
that  the  longed-for  moment  was  at  hand,  the  tender  heart, 
which  had  so  anxiously  awaited  it,  failed,  and  the  girl  broke 
down  weeping  hysterically. 


366  DOROTHY    VERNON 

"  Oh,  John,  you  have  forgiven  so  many  faults  in  me," 
she  said  between  sobs,  "  that  I  know  you  will  forgive  me 
when  I  tell  you  I  cannot  go  with  you  to-night.  I  thought 
I  could  and  I  so  intended  when  I  came  out  here  to  meet 
you.  But  oh,  John,  my  dearest  love,  I  cannot  go ;  I  can 
not  go.  Another  time  I  will  go  with  you,  John.  I  promise 
that  I  will  go  with  you  soon,  very  soon,  John  ;  but  I  cannot 
go  now,  oh,  I  cannot.  You  will  forgive  me,  won't  you, 
John  ?  You  will  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  cried  John  in  no  uncertain  tones,  "  I  will  not  for 
give  you.  I  will  take  you.  If  you  cry  out,  I  will  silence 
you."  Thereupon  he  rudely  took  the  girl  in  his  arms  and 
ran  with  her  toward  the  garden  gate  near  the  north  end  of 
the  stone  footbridge. 

"John,  John!"  she  cried  in  terror.  But  he  placed  his 
hand  over  her  mouth  and  forced  her  to  remain  silent  till 
they  were  past  the  south  wall.  Then  he  removed  his  hand 
and  she  screamed  and  struggled  against  him  with  all  her 
might.  Strong  as  she  was,  her  strength  was  no  match  for 
John's,  and  her  struggles  were  in  vain. 

John,  with  his  stolen  bride,  hurriedly  crossed  the  foot 
bridge  and  ran  to  the  men  who  were  holding  the  horses. 
There  he  placed  Dorothy  on  her  feet  and  said  with  a  touch 
of  anger :  — 

"Will  you  mount  of  your  own  will  or  shall  I  put  you  in 
the  saddle  ? " 

"  I'll  mount  of  my  own  will,  John,"  she  replied  submis 
sively,  "  and  John,  I  —  I   thank  you,  I  thank  you  for  — 
for  —    '  she  stopped  speaking  and  toyed  with  the  tufts  of 
fur  that  hung  from  the  edges  of  her  cloak. 

"  For  what,  my  love  ?  For  what  do  you  thank  me  ?  " 
asked  John  after  a  little  pause. 

"For  making  —  me  —  do  —  what  I  —  I  longed  to  do. 
My  conscience  would  not  let  me  do  it  of  my  own  free 
will." 


LEICESTER    WAITS    AT    THE    STILE      367 

Then  tears  came  from  her  eyes  in  a  great  flood,  and 
throw-ing  her  arms  about  John's  neck  she  gave  him  her 
self  and  her  heart  to  keep  forever  and  forever. 

And  Leicester  was  shivering  at  the  stile !  The  girl  had 
forgotten  even  the  existence  of  the  greatest  lord  in  the 
realm. 

My  wife,  Lord  Rutland,  and  I  waited  in  the  watch-room 
above  the  castle  gates  for  the  coming  of  Dorothy  and 
John  ;  and  when  they  came  —  but  I  will  not  try  to  describe 
the  scene.  It  were  a  vain  effort.  Tears  and  laughter  well 
compounded  make  the  sweetest  joy  ;  grief  and  joy  the 
truest  happiness ;  happiness  and  pain  the  grandest  soul, 
and  none  of  these  may  be  described.  We  may  analyze 
them,  and  may  take  them  part  from  part ;  but,  like  love,  they 
cannot  be  compounded.  We  may  know  all  the  component 
parts,  but  when  we  try  to  create  these  great  emotions  in 
description,  we  lack  the  subtle  compounding  flux  to  unite 
the  ingredients,  and  after  all  is  done,  we  have  simply  said 
that  black  is  black  and  that  white  is  white. 

Next  day,  in  the  morning,  Madge  and  I  started  for  our 
new  home  in  France.  We  rode  up  the  hill  down  which 
poor  Dolcy  took  her  last  fatal  plunge,  and  when  we 
reached  the  crest,  we  paused  to  look  back.  Standing  on 
the  battlements,  waving  a  kerchief  in  farewell  to  us,  was 
the  golden-crowned  form  of  a  girl.  Soon  she  covered  her 
face  with  her  kerchief,  and  we  knew  she  was  weeping. 
Then  we,  also,  wept  as  we  turned  away  from  the  fair 
picture ;  and  since  that  far-off  morning  —  forty  long,  long 
years  ago  —  we  have  not  seen  the  face  nor  heard  the 
voice  of  our  sweet,  tender  friend.  Forty  years !  What 
an  eternity  it  is  if  we  tear  it  into  minutes ! 


L'ENVOI 

The  fire  ceases  to  burn ;  the  flames  are  sucked  back 
into  the  earth;  the  doe's  blood  has  boiled  away;  the 
caldron  cools,  and  my  shadowy  friends  —  so  real  to  me 
—  whom  I  love  with  a  passionate  tenderness  beyond  my 
power  to  express,  have  sunk  into  the  dread  black  bank  of 
the  past,  and  my  poor,  weak  wand  is  powerless  to  recall 
them  for  the  space  of  even  one  fleeting  moment.  So  I 
must  say  farewell  to  them ;  but  all  my  life  I  shall  carry 
a  heart  full  of  tender  love  and  pain  for  the  fairest,  fiercest, 
gentlest,  weakest,  strongest  of  them  all  —  Dorothy  Vernon. 


368 


MALCOLM   POSSIBLY   IN  ERROR 

MALCOLM  VERNON  is  the  only  writer  on  the  life  of  Dorothy  Vernon 
who  speaks  of  Rutland  Castle.  All  others  writing  on  the  subject  say 
that  Belvoir  Castle  was  the  home  of  the  Earl  of  Rutland. 

No  other  writer  mentions  the  proposed  marriage,  spoken  of  by  Mal 
colm,  between  Dorothy  and  Lord  Derby's  son.  They  do,  however,  say 
that  Dorothy  had  an  elder  sister  who  married  a  Stanley,  but  died  child 
less,  leaving  Dorothy  sole  heiress  to  Sir  George  Vernon's  vast  estate. 

All  writers  agree  with  Malcolm  upon  the  main  fact  that  brave  Dorothy 
eloped  with  John  Manners  and  brought  to  him  the  fair  estate  of  Haddon, 
which  their  descendant,  the  present  Duke  of  Rutland,  now  possesses. 

No  other  writer  speaks  of  Mary  Stuart  having  been  at  Haddon,  and 
many  chroniclers  disagree  with  Malcolm  as  to  the  exact  date  of  her  im 
prisonment  in  Lochleven  and  her  escape. 

In  all  other  essential  respects  the  history  of  Dorothy  Vernon  as  told 
by  Malcolm  agrees  with  other  accounts  of  her  life. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  reconcile  the  differences  between  these  great  his 
torical  authorities,  but  I  confess  to  considerable  faith  in  Malcolm. 


369 


THE  CONQUEROR 

Being  the  True  and  Romantic  Story 
of  Alexander  Hamilton 

BY 

GERTRUDE  FRANKLIN  ATHERTON 

Author  of  ''Senator  North,"  "  The  Californlaas,"  etc.,  etc. 
Cloth  i2tno  $1.50 

The  romantic  story  of  Hamilton's  life  has  never  yet  been  told  in  its  com 
pleteness.  The  present  story  by  Mrs.  Atherton  has  been  written  after  an 
exhaustive  research  into  Hamilton's  family  records,  and  also  into  the  public 
records  of  the  West  India  Islands,  where  he  was  born  and  spent  his  boyhood. 
Mrs.  Atherton  has  been  able  to  solve  the  vexed  question  of  Hamilton's  birth, 
and  her  story  gives  not  only  a  full  account  of  his  mother  but  also  of  his  own 
childhood  and  boyhood.  For  the  rest,  it  is  a  consecutive  narrative  of  Hamil 
ton's  life,  based  entirely  on  the  facts,  but  is  treated  in  the  fashion  of  a  story 
instead  of  with  the  usual  conventional  biographical  method.  Many  incidents 
of  Hamilton's  life  which  in  themselves  sound  more  as  if  belonging  to  action 
than  fact  have  heretofore  been  merely  stated  by  his  biographers  as  the  dryest 
matter  of  fact,  whereas  Mrs.  Atherton  has  thrown  into  their  proper  worth 
these  startling  and  romantic  episodes  of  his  life.  While  adhering  in  the  closest 
possible  manner  to  the  actual  facts  of  Hamilton's  life,  Mrs.  Atherton  has  written 
his  life's  story  in  the  manner  of  fiction,  adding  immeasurably  to  its  interest. 
Hamilton  is  alive  to  the  reader.  One  gains  a  picture  of  the  man  from  his  boy 
hood  up,  the  man  himself  moving  and  acting  throughout  his  many-sided  career 
—  brilliant,  generous,  a  favorite  of  women,  and  the  astute  political  genius. 

Washington,  Lafayette,  Laurens,  Adams,  Madison,  Burr,  and  all  Hamilton's 
personal  friends  and  enemies  are  dramatis  persona  in  this  story.  Each  has 
formed  the  basis  of  careful  study  by  the  author  and  has  then  found  his  place 
among  the  personages  of  the  story  who  were  to  become  ultimately  so  promi 
nent  in  our  history. 


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THE  CRISIS 

By  WINSTON   CHURCHILL 

Author  of  "  Richard  Carvel,"  "  The  Celebrity,"  etc.     With  Eight  Full-page 
Illustrations  by  HOWARD  CHANDLER  CHRISTY 

Cloth.     i2mo.    $3.50 

Mr.  HAMILTON  W.  MABIE,  in  the  Outlook,  says  of  it :  "  The  most  important 
of  all  is  Mr.  Winston  Churchill's  '  The  Crisis,'  which  must  rank  among  the 
foremost  books  of  the  year.  No  more  realistic  and  sympathetic  study  of  Mr. 
Lincoln  has  been  made  than  that  which  is  presented  in  this  book,  and  the 
figure  grows  upon  the  reader  as  he  passes  from  chapter  to  chapter.  The  inter 
est  in  Mr.  Lincoln's  rare  personality  steadily  deepens  as  one  perceives  under 
neath  his  homeliness  the  elements  of  power  and  the  nobility  in  his  character. 
No  finer  interpretation  of  Mr.  Lincoln's  spirit  has  been  ever  made  than  that 
which  Mr.  Churchill  makes  in  the  few  words  he  puts  into  Lincoln's  mouth  in 
his  interview  with  Virginia  Carvel.  It  has  the  elements  of  originality  and 
power,  and  is  above  all  profoundly  interesting.  It  possesses  the  great  quality 
of  interpreting  American  life  from  an  intelligent  American  point  of  view.  A 
process  very  much  rarer  than  most  people  think." 

The  London  Academy  says  in  regard  to  "  The  Crisis "  that  Mr.  Winston 
Churchill  has  not  gone  back.  He  will  not  be  among  those  authors  who 
achieve  fame  in  a  month  only  to  lose  it  again  in  a  few  years. 

He  will  always  be  a  dignified  and  impressive  figure  in  American  letters,  and 
his  books  will  always  have  an  immense  sale. 

The  London  Spectator  again  praises  the  book  highly  and  says :  "  WTe  do  not 
grudge  Mr.  Churchill  his  popularity,  but  rather  welcome  it  as  an  excellent  sign 
of  the  times.  For  he  has  given  us  an  exceedingly  spirited,  interesting,  and 
right-minded  romance  of  the  Civil  War,  in  which,  while  generously  apprecia 
tive  of  the  chivalry,  the  heroism,  and  the  charm  of  the  Southerners,  always 
from  the  dramatic  and  literary  point  of  view  far  more  picturesque  and  engag 
ing  subjects  than  the  Yankees,  he  never  falters  a  moment  in  his  enthusiasm 
for  the  North.  The  true  hero  is  Lincoln,  and  we  have  to  thank  Mr.  Churchill 
for  a  very  honest  portrait  of  that  great  man,  and  a  most  graphic  account  of 
the  manner  in  which  he  conquered  the  admiration  of  the  fastidious." 


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Marietta 

A  Maid  of  Venice 

By  F.  MARION    CRAWFORD 

Author  of  "In  the  Palace  of  the  King"  "Via  Cruets," 
" Saracinesca"  etc. 

Cloth.      i2tno.      $1.50 

The  story  deals  with  a  romantic  episode  that  is  historically  true,  being 
taken  from  one  of  the  old  Venetian  chronicles  of  the  latter  part  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  during  the  development  of  the  greatest  splendor  of  the 
Queen  of  the  Adriatic. 

The  action  and  interest  centre  in  the  household  of  a  master  glass-blower, 
a  member  of  one  of  the  most  powerful  Venetian  trade  corporations  which 
had  many  rights  and  curious  privileges,  and  are  picturesquely  brought  out. 

But  aside  from  its  power  as  a  story  and  its  vivid  picture  of  domestic  life 
in  the  Middle  Ages,  the  book  shares  the  peculiar  charm  of  "  Marzio's  Cruci 
fix,"  "  A  Roman  Singer,"  and  other  of  Mr.  Crawford's  descriptions  of  artists 
and  their  surroundings,  which  have  always  been  singularly  fortunate,  possibly 
because  of  special  sympathies  dating  from  his  boyhood  in  Rome,  where  his 
father  was  the  well-known  sculptor,  Thomas  Crawford. 


A  Friend  with  the  Countersign 

By   B.    K.    BENSON 

Author  of  "Who  Goes  There?"  etc. 

Cloth.      i2mo.     $1.50 

Those  who  have  read  "  the  best  spy  story  of  the  Civil  War  "  —  described 
by  the  Boston  Herald  as :  "  Quite  the  most  extraordinary  and  remarkable  of 
recent  stories  of  personal  adventure  in  warfare  ...  a  story  of  such  vividness 
and  power  that  once  you  have  gotten  immersed  in  it,  you  want  to  shut  out 
the  rest  of  the  world  completely  until  you  have  finished  it,"  will  not  be  sur 
prised  to  find  in  the  new  novel  a  story  of  desperate  personal  adventure, 
political  plot  and  counterplot,  villany,  and  of  a  devoted  woman's  love,  all 
interwoven  with  the  Virginia  Campaigns  of  Grant  and  Lee,  and  detailed  with 
rare  historical  accuracy. 


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NEW     FICTION 


By  MERWIN-WEBSTER 

Authors  of  "  The  Short  Line  War"  "  Tbe  Banker  and  the  Bear,"  etc. 

Illustrated.    Cloth.     i2tno.    $1.50 

Calumet  "  K  "  is  a  two-million-bushel  grain  elevator,  and  this  story  tells 
how  Charlie  Bannon  built  it  "  against  time."  The  elevator  must  be  done  by 
December  31.  There  are  persons  that  are  interested  in  delaying  the  work, 
and  it  is  these,  as  well  as  the  "walking  delegates,"  that  Bannon  has  to  fight. 
The  story  of  how  they  tried  to  "  tie  up  "  the  lumber,  two  hundred  miles  away, 
and  of  how  he  outwitted  them  and  "just  carried  it  off,"  shows  the  kinds  of 
thing  that  Bannon  can  do  best.  In  spite  of  his  temptation  to  brag  —  he  was 
for  two  years  a  "  chief  wrecker  "  on  the  Grand  Trunk,  and  has  many  stories 
to  tell  —  Bannon  is  one  of  the  men  without  whom  American  commerce  could 
not  get  on.  The  heroine  of  this  story  is  Bannon's  typewriter. 

Mr.  Henry  Kitchell  Webster  and  Mr.  Samuel  Merwin  have  discovered  in 
the  exciting  movements  of  trade  and  finance  a  field  of  fiction  hitherto  over 
looked  by  American  writers,  but  containing  a  great  wealth  of  romance. 


A  Tale  of  the  First  Crusade 

By  WILLIAM    STEARNS   DAVIS 

Author  of  "  A  Friend  of  Ccesar  " 

Cloth.      i2mo.      $1.50 

The  story  revolves  around  the  adventures  of  Richard  Longsword,  a  re 
doubtable  young  Norman  cavalier,  settled  in  Sicily;  how  he  won  the  hand 
of  the  Byzantine  Princess,  Mary  Kurkuas;  how  in  expiation  of  a  crime  com 
mitted  under  extreme  provocation,  he  took  the  vows  of  the  Crusader;  how 
in  Syria  his  rival  in  love,  the  Egyptian  Emir,  Iftikhar-Eddauleh  stole  from  him 
his  bride;  and  how  he  regained  her  under  romantic  circumstances  at  the 
storming  of  Jerusalem  by  the  French. 


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